The Red Knight (6 page)

The Hammer and the Anvil reached Weyhithe in time to see the sun pierce the dark horizon before beginning its ascent into the clear, blue sky. Alyda smiled. It was going to be a perfect day.

By mid morning, her knights were dressed in their finest harness, and waiting in a tent that had been set aside for their use until it was time to enter the city. Outwardly, Alyda maintained an air of cool detachment as befitted a Captain of the Royal Guards. Inside, she was as excited as a child on the eve of Midwinter.

Althus beckoned her over, the green and black plumes in his helm brushed the canvas roof with every movement. He was being besieged by an army of young ladies and gentlemen who’d brought flower garlands for the knights.

“Mornin’, Captain Stenna, you’ve scrubbed up well.” Althus grinned and politely ducked so that more garlands could be added to the half dozen that were already draped around his neck. “Don’t go fainting in the heat now, Shorty—I know what a delicate flower you are.”

She gave him the lizard eye. “If I do pass out, promise you won’t try to revive me with a kiss.”

“Ach, I’m hurt!”

“Call me a flower again and you will be.”

Satisfied that it was immaculate, Jamie folded the Captain’s red velvet cloak over his arm. There was just one more item he needed.

He lifted the Silver Spur from the Captain’s trunk as though it was made of the most delicate crystal rather than… whatever it was made from. The spur was the highest honour the King could bestow on a knight. Jamie remembered the day Daris had presented it to the Captain like it was yesterday. Today would be another great day to remember.

The squires and pages had been given a tent of their own and were frantically busy, polishing armour, cleaning cloaks, paying minute attention to every buckle and stitch to ensure the knights they served would look their best for the parade. Everyone was excited. They all talked at once, voices growing louder, and louder, as they fought to be heard. The young warriors boasted extravagantly of how they would dazzle the noble young ladies and gentlemen at the feast with tales of their daring exploits in Suvia, but not Jamie. The only person he could think about was the Captain, and making sure everything was perfect for her.

“So Turlowe, d’you think Captain Stenna will bed Corvinius tonight? Or has her affection turned to Vorbek?”

Hedden was the newly appointed squire of Rann Lacgarde and had only been with the Company for a couple of weeks. He’d come as replacement for the Standard Bearer’s previous squire who’d been killed in Suvia. Unlike his predecessor, Hedden was obnoxious and abrasive, and for some unknown reason had decided to tease Jamie whenever he got the chance. It was expressly forbidden for squires and knights to fight each other, but Jamie was finding it increasingly difficult holding to the rule when it came to Hedden.

Hedden sneered; he was a couple of years younger than Jamie, but a good deal taller. “Well, copper top, what d’you think?” He either hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care that a space had cleared around them. “Who do you think the Captain will have between her thighs tonight? Or maybe she’ll do both? I’ve heard Hadami women are given to taking more than one lover at a time.”

Jamie laughed; he wasn’t intimidated by Hedden. He’d always been a likely looking target for bullies; he wasn’t tall and, as Countess Duvessi had noted, was cursed with a boyish face, but in his case, looks were deceiving. Jamie was a veteran who’d fought in the line, and looked his enemies in the eye when he’d killed them. Hedden was an untried recruit, full of piss and wind.

“I neither know nor care who, if anyone, the Captain will take to her bed tonight,” he said, “but I do know that I wouldn’t take you to mine if you were the last warm body in Antia. Now don’t start crying because I’ve spurned you, it’s embarrassing.”

Hedden flushed as scarlet as the Company colours and barged from the tent, hounded by the mocking laughter of the other squires. Jamie winked at Keris who was watching him with an expression somewhere between curiosity and admiration. He liked her; she understood what it was to be a captain’s squire, and she made him laugh. He gathered up the cloak and was about to leave when she came over.

“I thought you were going to belt him,” she said.

“So did I, and then I remembered he’s an idiot and not worth being kicked out of the Guards over.”

She laughed. “Aye, true enough, although, if he’d said anymore about my Captain, I’d have punched him myself.” Her eyes lit up. “Is that the Silver Spur? Can I have a look?”

“I…alright, but I have to take these to the Captain. Come, walk with me, and be careful with it.”

They passed the horse lines; like their riders the knights’ mounts had also been groomed within an inch of their lives and kitted out in their finest harness. The Captains’ mounts both had great plumes attached to their crinets, Lyco’s in flaming red and Vorbek’s horse in black and green. Jamie pretended not to notice Lyco dragging two grooms over to a bale of hay, while they dangled from his reins like ornaments.

Keris held the spur up to the light. “I’ve seen Trease’s spur from a distance, but I’ve never touched one.”

“Ah, well, there are only two knights alive who’ve won them. I was her squire when she received the honour.” Jamie beamed, unable to resist showing off just a little.

Keris gave him a lopsided grin. “Yes, Jamie, I know, I was there too. They say they’re a pair. What d’you think?”

Jamie shrugged. “I don’t know, but I suppose it would explain why only two knights have them. They’re Fey made, I can tell you that for certain. Look at the engraving, no human smith could produce something so detailed.”

Keris nodded appreciatively. “It’s beautiful, but I wouldn’t know Fey work if it bit me. I’m the daughter of a farmer, not a lord. We don’t have too many Fey treasures tucked away in the family vaults, unlike some.” She elbowed him playfully in the ribs.

Outside the officers’ tent they saw Lieutenant Lorhine and Lieutenant Tiran. The two officers were locked in a heated debate.

“I think you’d better use the other entrance,” said Keris when the senior knights began shoving each other.

Aye, I think you’re right.”

Keris smiled and handed him the Silver Spur. “It’s really stunning.”

“Aye, well, I spent about two hours cleaning it last night.”

“Your Captain’s lucky to have you.”

Jamie slapped her on the back. “Thanks Ker, it’s nice of you to say so. No one else understands what it’s like being a Captain’s squire.”

“I think we’re very alike, you and I.” She picked a speck of lint off the Captain’s cloak and smiled in an odd, shy sort of way.

“Aye, we could be family, like brother and sister—you know what I mean,” said Jamie.

Her smile vanished. “Brother and… I’ll see you later Jamie, you don’t want to keep Captain Stenna waiting.”

“I thought you’d got lost,” said Captain Stenna.

“Sorry, Captain, I had to help the grooms with Lyco.” He knew she wasn’t really annoyed. Despite the raised eyebrow and folded arms, the half-smile and bright gleam in her eyes betrayed her good humour.

She threw on her cloak. Jamie looped the gold braided ties through the rings set near the shoulders of her breastplate, careful not to leave finger marks on the shining metal. Her parade armour was exquisitely decorated, but could turn a blade as well as her battle harness should the need arise. Unlike her battle armour, this set was mirror bright, and every surface was etched with roses and curling vines. It was a fine testament to the skill of its maker. Jamie dreamed of one day owning a suit of armour made by Master Bainley. When he was finished draping her cloak, he handed her the Silver Spur. A shiver ran down his spine as he watched her hold it against her right boot heel. There were no buckles or straps; the metal simply flowed around her boot, seamlessly locking itself in place around her ankle. The Captain saw that he was watching and winked.

Outside, someone shouted; “The Black Lancers have left the palace!”

Vorbek clapped the Captain on the shoulder. “Lock up your sons and daughters, Weyhithe! The Hammer and the Anvil are coming to town. Knights! To your horses!”

Cassian checked the girth on his saddle and cinched it up another notch. On his signal, the Standard Bearer unfurled the company colours. The sable field rippled in the gentle breeze that swept through the walled canyons of the Arth, animating the silver griffin emblazoned across it. He cast a critical eye over his company as they prepared to leave. Their coal black horses were immaculate, their blackened armour pristine. The 4th was ready to ride.

Cassian was looking forward to seeing Alyda and Althus again, but he didn’t enjoy banquets. He’d stopped being embarrassed by how he looked years ago, but still found social gatherings awkward. Hefting the Guard’s ceremonial mace, he admired the bronze griffin that topped the ironwood shaft. Every minute scale had been polished to perfection. He raised it aloft and ordered the Lancers to move out.

By the time they reached the East Gate, Cassian’s ears were ringing. The noise and colour, the tidal roll of bodies pressed against each other was as disorientating as the battlefield, the only difference was that nobody was trying to kill him. He raised the mace, the 4th came to a halt behind him, and the crowd fell silent. Moments passed; Cassian and the citizens of Weyhithe held their breath until the gates split and a blade of sunlight sliced through the shadows crowding the street. The hundreds of spectators gave a thunderous cheer, so loud it shook the glass in the windows. The gates were thrown open to reveal the Hammer and the Anvil waiting outside.

Lyco stamped and snorted imperiously when the Lancers’ herald sounded her horn. The blast cut through the noise of the crowd and sent a shiver down Alyda’s spine. From behind her, the call was answered.

Cassian rode forward and halted between the gates. When the roar died down he gave the formal greeting. “King Daris the Seventh, bids me welcome you in love, honour, and fealty. Do you enter here in faith, at the bidding of the King?”

Alyda’s mouth was dry; she had to swallow before giving the reply she’d been rehearsing in her head all morning. “The First Company of the Royal Guards humbly accepts the graciousness of King Daris and enters his city in love, honour, fealty, and faith.”

It was a rare day when a destrier of the Guards was startled, but something, probably the sudden cheer, caught Lyco by surprise and he reared. Alyda’s heart missed a beat. For a moment, while her horse beat the air with his hooves, she was sure she was going to be dumped unceremoniously on her arse. She hung on and when he came back down, she set spurs to his flanks and drove him through the city gate.

Garian was no horseman, but making the ugly brute rear was reckless, even for one of the Royal Guards. He was watching proceedings from a balcony that overlooked the road. Threats, promises, and coin had convinced the owners to be elsewhere while he availed himself of the best vantage he could find to search the crowd for the assassin. All he had to go on was a vague description and a well developed nose for trouble.

He scanned the crowd while the Captain of the Black Lancers and the Captain of the Hammer bellowed nonsense at each other. When the Captain of the Anvil had given his response they would ride together to the Arth at the head of their companies. Three Captains, one of whom was going to die if he didn’t save them.
No pressure there, then.
He would have to correct the description of Stenna. Tamalak women were generally brawnier than Antians, but she was only half Tamalak. She was tall, but had inherited the more slender build of her Hadami mother. She obviously knew she was fair, even though her expression was perfectly composed, Garian saw the flush in her cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes. She was clearly enjoying the adoration of the crowds. This was in marked contrast to the Captain of the 4th. The man was as pale as a corpse, and looked about as happy. Garian could well believe the rumours that the knight had Fey blood; there was something not quite human about that long, angular face. In any company it would have been impossible to mistake Althus Vorbek. The Captain of the Anvil was a giant, half bear, half troll—typical Tamalak.

Garian ignored the knot of desperation tightening in his gut and searched the crowd again. Thus far, he hadn’t spotted anyone who even came close to matching the description Gilhas had given him, and the knights were about to set off for the Arth. He’d have to stay with them, but if he went down into the streets he’d be trapped in the crush. There was nothing for it; if he couldn’t go down he’d just have to go up.

He’d learnt as a boy that the architecture of Weyhithe lent itself very well to the needs of those who wished to travel quickly and, more importantly,
unobserved
around the city. The sewers were a grim alternative, but of no use today. Jutting balconies and pitched rooftops that overhung the narrow side streets at regular, easily traversed intervals, most definitely were. The tightly packed buildings were horribly dangerous when fires broke out, but extremely useful at times like this.

For the early part of the route Garian was able to keep pace with the knights, but his progress stalled roughly mid-way to the Arth when he came up against a damaged roof, its blackened roof beams exposed to the sky. Cursing, he searched for an alternative way forward while keeping an eye out for the assassin. About eight feet below him was a narrow balcony. He could use it to climb across to its neighbour on the next building along, and then back up onto the rooftops. Having picked his path, he jumped down, smiled politely at the startled spectators on the balcony, and made to climb over the side. He was halfway across when he glanced down and caught sight of something that froze him in his tracks. Standing at the point where the road curved round a bend, was a Hadami woman wearing a grey cap. He watched, heart pounding, as she took something from the basket she was carrying. Frustratingly, he couldn’t make out what it was before it disappeared under her red cloak.