The Red Knight (42 page)

Trenham’s first task was to destroy the gatehouse and the barbican, but leave the bridge intact. His second was to provide cover for the warriors to get the bridges and ladders up to the moat. No doubt his third task would be to sprout wings, fly over the Arth and piss fire onto the Ants. He’d brought all twelve of his new trebuchets. Two had been damaged on the journey and needed repairs, but the other ten were in good working order.

They were not the biggest examples of their type, but they were more than capable of raining destruction down on the Arth. He’d worked like a dog and saved everything he’d earned for two years to buy them, but even with the favourable price he’d got from old Kon Stenna he still had a sizable loan left to pay the Free Company Council.

Only a few short weeks ago, before he’d taken this damn contract, he’d been eager to test them in battle, but the shine was now well and truly tarnished. He could derive little pleasure from using them against someone he respected and admired and, worse still, was the daughter of the man who’d made them. It was a cruel co-incidence, and one that he’d probably come to regret. He kept trying to convince himself it was only business, but it didn’t sit right.

Trenham’s mood didn’t improve when upon returning from his pointless meeting with Thorgulsen, he found Telvier in his tent.

“I’m no seer, but I guess by your sullen mien the audience with the Thane didn’t go well,” Telvier purred. His desire to gloat breaking through the thin veneer of sympathy he was trying to project.

Trenham wasn’t interested in gossiping with the Suvian. He’d only use whatever was said to try and wheedle his way back into the Thane’s favour. Telvier’s reputation for backstabbing preceded him. Fellow Free Company Captain he may be, but he was not to be trusted.

“You’ve fought with the Antians before, d’you think they’ll surrender?”

“Possibly. Eventually.” Trenham feigned interest in some maps on his desk in the hope that Telvier would take the hint and leave. He didn’t. He nosed around the tent, further irritating Trenham.

“What about bribery?”

Trenham laughed. “Corvinius is an exception. Coin isn’t the currency these knights deal in.”

“No, perhaps not, but I’ll wager their families will be happy to pay up if it means getting their kin back in one piece. We could make some coin if we were allowed to ransom the surviving knights. Damn that Guthani oaf to the Void! He’s going to ruin me; I’ve been forced to empty the prison yards to fill my ranks
this
year. I need to make on this contract or next year I’ll only be able to afford to enlist old people with wooden spoons. Some of these knights will have wealthy families, it’s such a waste.” The mercenary fanned himself with the enormous ruffles of lace at his cuffs. “Why can’t he kill peasants to slake his bloodlust? I have debts to pay! You know how it is. Which reminds me; I must congratulate you on your fine trebuchets. I do so admire your ambition, and bravery
.
Those things must have cost a fortune.”

Trenham continued to look at the maps, and let the silence lengthen. The Suvian eventually got the message.

“Well, as much as I’d love to stay and banter, I must away. Got to stop my rabble getting too drunk while they’re waiting for your lot to soften up the Ants. Let’s hope Thorgulsen will—
at the very least
, allow us the pleasure of the garrison before he guts ‘em, eh?” Telvier winked conspiratorially before sauntering from the tent.

Trenham felt the need to bathe. The Suvian might wear fine clothes and affect the manners of a gentleman, but underneath the silk he was no better than the murderous gutter-scum he employed. He poured himself a glass of wine and downed it in one. He was starting to think this was a bad contract.

The trebuchets pounded the Arth late into the afternoon. Trenham had managed to confine his thoughts to the job at hand and direct his crews to destroying the gatehouse. The ballista on the towers hadn’t been idle during their attack and had put one of his engines out of action, but in the long range battle of heavy weaponry, he was winning.

As dusk rolled purple across the sky, the attackers had cause to cheer when the defenders finally abandoned the battered, outer gatehouse. Emboldened by the withdrawal, Telvier’s warriors formed up, eager to attack. Trenham didn’t share their excitement; he didn’t trust the Antian’s uncharacteristic retreat and went over to speak to the Suvian before he sent his fighters in.

“Ah, Herick! Have ye come to watch my lads finish off the Ants?” Telvier smirked. He’d changed his outfit again, and was now wearing a fine cuirass of polished steel.

“Actually, Luca, I was going to suggest you hold off. Let me take out the gates from a distance.”

The Suvian laughed and fluffed his lace cuffs. “You really are too cautious! Look at the damage you’ve done. I really don’t think we’ll have any trouble getting in, the Ants have retreated.” He grinned, gold teeth winking in the fading light. “Time is money, dear fellow! They aren’t paying me by the day.” He took another pull on the silver flask he was waving. “I must say, your crew’s aim is rather good, but then I suppose it is a big castle. Cheer up, we’re almost done. Now if you would excuse me, ‘tis time to unleash the hounds.”

Trenham let him go. Telvier was so desperate to win his way back into the Thane’s favour he’d throw his fighters at the Arth no matter what he said.

The Suvian marched over to his company, drew his rapier, and with a flourish, gave the order to attack. The mercenaries swarmed from the trees in a ragged wave, dragging a rough-hewn battering ram with them. Telvier stayed where he was; safely out of ballista range. Trenham shook his head. This would not go well. The heavy ram was swinging wildly in its shoddily constructed cradle that ploughing deep furrows into the road as they dragged it along. When they reached the bridge, Trenham halted the bombardment.

Kiri, the Irregulars’ Second-in-Command, sucked her teeth. “Not a single defender left on tha’ walls. I ‘spected more from tha’ Ants.”

Trenham shook his head. “I’m not so sure they’ve given up. This is too easy.”

“Easy?” She gave a throaty chuckle, her dark eyes mocked him. “I’d hate t’see your idea of tough. You underestimate yourself and overestimate tha’ Antians. They’ve taken a poundin’. ‘Tis enough to break even—”

Trenham pointed to the Arth.

As soon as Telvier’s company set foot on the bridge, the gatehouse portcullis rattled up and the gates were thrown open. The mercenaries stumbled to a halt as the Hammer and the Black Lancers charged across the bridge and out of the gatehouse.

The knights had mounted up in the Bailey while the defenders made a show of pulling back from the gatehouse. The moment the wheel of the ram carriage touched the bridge, the signal was given for the defenders hiding in the gatehouse to throw open the gates and raise the portcullis. The other three sets of gates had already been quietly opened during the bombardment.

Without doubt, there would be some who would question her decision to ride out. They would argue that the gatehouse was un-defendable, that it was better to sacrifice it without loss. Technically, they were probably right, but Alyda knew there was more at stake here than bricks and mortar. They needed an early victory. The defenders—particularly the civilians, had to believe they could win if they were going to stand and fight. She settled into the saddle, reins gripped in one hand, sword in the other. Now all she had to do was deliver that victory.

The swifter, less heavily armoured Lancers led the charge, followed by the Hammer. The 1st rode straight at the main body of mercenaries. The Lancers split, half riding round either flank of the attackers. While one of the Hammer doused the ram with oil, the rest attacked the startled mercenaries while the Lancers raced to cut off their retreat. Poorly trained, half drunk and scared to death, Telvier’s company ran as though all the demons of the Void were chasing them.

Alyda took no pleasure from slaughter, but there was something deeply satisfying about dealing with the scum who’d put Weyhithe to the torch. She would have liked to have pushed the advantage surprise had granted them and carry the fight into the enemy camp, wreak all shades of havoc upon them, but they had to stick to the plan. They would ride down this scum and destroy Trenham’s engines—the bastard himself if he got in her way.

Trenham’s heart sank. He’d seen this before in Suvia, only this time, he was on the receiving end. Because Telvier and Thorgulsen had rushed the assault on the gates, his crews and trebuchets were now vulnerable. The Hammer scattered Telvier’s fighters without even slowing their charge before turning their attention to his engines. Cursing, Trenham pulled on his coif and strung his bow.

The Irregulars’ trebuchet crews drew swords as the tide of steel flowed towards them, but there was no way they could fight it out with the heavy cavalry and Trenham ordered the retreat. They didn’t need to be told twice.

The knights didn’t pursue the crews; they set about wrecking his trebuchets. It came as no surprise that they knew exactly which ropes to cut and pins to smash to cripple them. Ali Stenna turned to face him. He plucked a shaft from his quiver.

She raised her visor. “Nothing personal!” she shouted, a wolfish grin on her face.

He nocked an arrow, loosed. She slammed down her visor. The shaft flew wide.

When the Guthani finally got themselves in some sort of order and were ready to attack, the Black Lancers’ herald gave a short blast on his horn. Immediately, the knights stopped smashing the trebuchets and spurred their mounts back to the Arth. Guthani and mercenaries flooded from the trees, screaming for Antian blood.

When they were roughly halfway across the open ground, the Lancer’s herald gave another blast. Trenham wondered if it could get any worse when a dozen huge clay pots arced over the Arth walls. He groaned. Apparently, it could.

The pots hit the ground and exploded into hundreds of jagged shards. The fist-sized rocks that were inside them ripped through the attackers, killing and maiming dozens. The counter-attack stalled. Trenham looked across the field—not a single Antian was down. Their archers had returned to their positions on the curtain wall and were picking off anyone foolish enough to come within range of their longbows.

Stunned and bloodied, those Guthani and mercenaries who were able, staggered back to the woods, pursued by the mocking laughter of Antians. Trenham sighed and slackened off his bowstring, conflicting emotions trapping his feelings somewhere between despair and admiration.

Victory seeded thunder in the voices of the garrison and a wave of exultant cheering washed over the Hammer and the Lancers when they rode back into the bailey. Alyda sucked the blood-charged air through the breathes of her helm, but only let go of the hard knot of tension that nestled in her guts when she’d counted back in, every warrior who’d ridden out.

After exchanging savage oaths with her knights, she briefed her officers and then went to her quarters. She was tired, but confident that they would not be attacked again that night. The Guthani and mercenaries would hopefully be too busy arguing over who was to blame for that shambolic attack. She shouted for Jamie, expecting him to be waiting for her—but he wasn’t. She knew he’d got back unscathed; he was right behind her when they rode in. Cursing his untimely absence, she entered her room to find a crackling fire burning in the hearth, food and drink on the table and Talin reclining on the bed.

He smiled at her.”I sent Jamie and the little one away. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Little one?” She enquired confused, but happy to see him. She unbuckled her sword belt and tossed it on the couch.

“Aye, your little shadow; the child who’s been following you around. I found him hiding under the bed.”

Alyda shrugged. “You’ve lost me, I…Oh, d’you mean that little imp I caught playing with my helm? No, I don’t mind in the slightest, but Jamie would be useful about now.” She reached for the clasp on her gorget.

“As I’m the one who sent him away, I feel I ought to act as your squire.”

“I think that’s fair.”

“Fair, you say? You’re very honoured. Few people are privileged enough to have a prince do this.” Talin unbuckled her cuirass.

She shrugged out of the armour and pushed him back onto the bed. He lay there smiling while she took off her sweat-soaked arming jack. A slow smile spread across her face. “You’re most gracious, Highness. Now, what was it you said about showing your gratitude when we reached the Arth…?”

It was fully dark before Trenham sent his crews out to retrieve the damaged trebuchets. He had to hand it to the Hammer; the bastards had done a thorough job. His people would have to work through the night to repair the damage.

The next time he turned them on the Arth he wouldn’t stop until the gatehouse was a memory. He didn’t understand why they’d taken the risk of attacking, just to put them out of action for one night. He stowed his bow and stripped off his mail. The sooner they got started the sooner they’d be done. Alyda must have known the engines could be repaired. For all that the attack had been daring, they had only won a respite, not a reprieve.

At sunrise it began to rain stones. Alyda wasn’t surprised; the only way to permanently put a trebuchet out of action was to destroy the main timbers, but that hadn’t been an option. She had hoped it would take them longer to make the repairs, but the sortie hadn’t been in vain. The trebuchet’s volleys were neither as numerous or as concentrated as they had been the previous day and the mercenaries were making a more cautious and more importantly, slower, advance across the field, protected under crawlers.