The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (43 page)

The only surviving knight was William of Verellian, and Horrock agonized about what to do with him. In the end, his unconscious body was taken with the injured Ranen. The knight looked less like a bird of prey when he wasn’t standing upright, glaring at people, and his shaven head was covered in blood.

Bronwyn had stood off to the side with Hasim and the man called Stone Dog. Moody was not allowed into the Ranen headquarters and the large horse had been tied to a wooden post, under a partial stone roof, near the staircase.

Bronwyn and Hasim sheltered near the gatehouse as the men of Wraith said prayers to Rowanoco over the fallen. Bronwyn was impressed that they showed equal respect for the dead Ro, and she heard several words suggesting they thought these particular knights were fearsome opponents and men of honour.

‘See the man with one white eye,’ Stone Dog said to Hasim as they quickly crossed the courtyard to follow Horrock and his men into shelter.

‘What, the man Fallon split down the middle?’ asked Hasim, with a gesture towards the old man who was being carried reverently under cover.

Stone Dog was annoyed at the Karesian’s flippancy, but he smiled after a moment. The men of Ranen were famous for finding humour in death and Bronwyn was pleased that they were less pious than the men she was used to.

‘His name was Dorron Moon Eye and he was our priest. Your man Fallon killed a man of the Hammer.’

Hasim frowned, clearly aware of the significance of such a death.

Bronwyn interjected as they reached the top of the staircase leading down. ‘He was of the same order as Magnus?’

Stone Dog ushered the two of them down the stairs and glanced around the courtyard to make sure they were the last.

‘Dorron wouldn’t come with us when we went to Canarn. He said it was foolish to accept the hand of a duke of Tor Funweir.’ He faced Bronwyn. ‘And Magnus told him he was an old fool who should stop living in the past.’ He smiled.

The stairs dived steeply into an old stone basement underneath the courtyard and opened up into a series of low rooms and passageways. The area looked extensive and Bronwyn saw more homely comforts than she might have expected. Rooms with solidly built doors and cosy sitting rooms made the basement appear like a well-maintained tavern or even a small settlement.

She also saw numerous people who had not been in the courtyard during the fight. Women and children, most wearing the blue cloaks of Wraith Company, rushed to the returning warriors and tears flowed from the wives, sons and daughters of fallen men. The injured were taken quickly to places of healing. Mugs of strong beer were passed round and most of the warriors drank deeply while their chain mail was removed and their wounds tended.

Only Stone Dog paid Bronwyn and Hasim any attention amidst the commotion, and this took the form of keeping them out of the way. No woman or child came to greet the young Ranen, and Bronwyn detected a hint of emotion in his eye, as if once he’d had someone to rush up to him when he returned from battle. He did acknowledge an older Ranen woman, who shot him a quick glance and received in return a nod to signal that he was uninjured.

William of Verellian was still alive but Bronwyn could see large amounts of blood seeping through the axe wound in his armour.

‘Stone Dog, is someone going to see to him?’ she asked, gesturing towards the knight, who’d been placed on the floor at the foot of the stairs.

The young Ranen looked across at the other injured men. ‘They’ll get to him. He’s not a priority,’ he said, showing little regard for the life of a man of Ro. ‘Dorron’s dead, which means healing these men is going to take time, rest, recuperation. All that stuff we don’t often need to bother with.’

Bronwyn turned to Hasim and wordlessly conveyed her concern that the knight would die before he’d been tended. The Karesian frowned and shook his head, as if he were wrestling with something.

‘He’s a knight of the Red, Bronwyn, keeping him alive might be a mistake.’ He paused, breathing in sharply. ‘But…’

Hasim crossed from where they stood, negotiating the people of Wraith struggling out of their armour. A few glanced up at him, registering surprise that a Karesian should be in their midst, but most were lost in post-battle weariness and simply ignored him. Bronwyn followed, trying to stay behind him.

They reached Verellian and Hasim crouched down next to the broken knight before speaking quietly. ‘You probably saved my life in Canarn,’ he said to the unconscious man, ‘so, as a man of at least some honour, I should now save yours.’ He inspected the knight and turned to Bronwyn. ‘Help me get his armour off. I need to see how bad that axe wound is.’

Together they wrested the battered armour from Verellian. It was badly dented and two cuts appeared, one in the chest where Horrock had struck him and one in the back from a thrown axe.

Bronwyn knew a little of armour and thought it likely that the breastplate was now useless. The knight was still unconscious and it was a struggle to remove the steel from the large man. Hasim held both his arms out and Bronwyn unfastened the shoulder straps, letting the front plate detach, and allowing Hasim to pull off the segmented arm guards. Then they laid the knight down on his back and inspected his chest wound. It was an ugly, jagged line across his chest and stomach – not deep, but it bled profusely and Bronwyn thought he would die from loss of blood if it were not treated properly.

‘Looks like you’ll be alive a while yet, Ro horse-fucker,’ murmured Hasim, mostly to himself, as he inspected the wound.

Turning back to Bronwyn he said, ‘Water and dressings. They must have something around here.’

Bronwyn stood up and, moving quickly, returned to Stone Dog, who was still by the stairs.

‘I need something to treat the knight’s wounds,’ she said quickly. ‘He’ll die if we don’t stop the bleeding.’

‘And we should use our meagre supplies to save a knight of Red?’ Stone Dog replied angrily. ‘I don’t think so. We need everything we’ve got for our own men.’

‘Keep the knight alive.’ The words came from Horrock who was standing nearby with a woman massaging his shoulders.

Stone Dog paused a moment, clearly not happy about having to use their supplies on a man of Ro, but he didn’t argue with his captain. He snapped his fingers at a young lad who was running around the room with bandages and buckets of water.

‘Boy, tend to the knight when you’re finished over there,’ he said reluctantly.

Horrock ushered away the woman behind him and stepped closer to Hasim and Bronwyn. The captain of Wraith Company was not wounded and his piercing blue eyes regarded the two outsiders with interest. Bronwyn found his face inscrutable and could not read his intentions.

‘I suppose we need to have a conversation. Would you agree, your ladyship?’ he asked her.

She glanced at Hasim and was surprised that Horrock had addressed her first. The Karesian smiled reassuringly and nodded.

‘Of course, Captain Horrock,’ she replied, ‘though, I would like to see the knight tended to first. He will die if someone doesn’t look after him.’

It had occurred to Bronwyn that she was still technically a noblewoman of Tor Funweir and she had a certain obligation to see that William of Verellian was cared for properly.

Horrock grunted a sound that might have been one of amusement or of annoyance. ‘Soft hearts don’t last long around here,’ he said, with a shallow nod of his head, making his words even more ambiguous.

‘Neither do men with axe wounds to their back and chest,’ Bronwyn shot back, eliciting a good-natured laugh from Hasim, which made several of the nearby Ranen glare at him.

‘Sorry,’ the Karesian said with an awkward smile, ‘I can’t help myself.’

‘No need to apologize, Karesian,’ said Horrock, ‘but you must understand that many of my people have lost brothers, husbands, sons and friends. Humour is not easily found at such times.’

Bronwyn looked over the faces of the people of Wraith and, for a moment, she thought her insistence on proper care for the knight was petty. She could see many tearful faces. These people were not nobles, knights or soldiers. They were common men and women who had chosen to fight to protect the Freelands.

‘Stone Dog,’ ordered Horrock, ‘care for the knight. See that he doesn’t die.’

The young Ranen grumbled but he didn’t argue as he moved to grab a wet towel and several bandages from the boy.

‘He’ll need those wounds sewn, Horrock.’ Stone Dog knelt down next to the unconscious knight.

‘You can handle a needle, boy. Get to it,’ replied the captain of Wraith Company.

‘You two,’ he pointed at Hasim and Bronwyn, ‘come with me.’

‘Dispossessed minor nobles first,’ Hasim said to Bronwyn, as he motioned for her to follow Horrock.

Bronwyn shot him a narrow glare, letting him know that she didn’t appreciate his attempt at humour, and then walked after the Ranen. The two of them followed Horrock through the large entrance room, past wounded men lying on makeshift bedrolls and hastily erected tables. Many of the wounds were minor – thin cuts and shallow thrusts from the Red knights’ longswords. A few looked more serious – severed limbs and wounds deep enough to be life-threatening. The women of Wraith were responsible for the care of the wounded and Bronwyn was impressed with their manner. Orders were barked almost in military fashion, and the uninjured men who remained in the basement were quickly made to help tend their fellows. Concoctions and poultices, producing strange earthy smells, were being prepared by several of the older women. Bronwyn realized the absence of a priest to heal the wounded was a major problem for the people of Wraith.

The Ranen barely registered the presence of Bronwyn and Hasim, standing only to nod to Horrock before returning to their bloody work. The Ranen captain led them through the main area and down a narrow stone corridor lit by globed candles and adorned with all manner of trophies. The Free Companies were renowned for taking items from fallen foes to remind them of their need to be ever vigilant, and the corridor was a grim sight for a woman of Ro.

Multiple broken longswords, some incredibly old, hung from the walls. Several flattened suits of armour had been riveted to the stone and Bronwyn was a little taken aback by the colours on display. It was clear that in their time Wraith Company had killed churchmen of multiple orders. Though red was the most common colour, Bronwyn could also identify purple armour, the brown robes and even a single suit of black armour, indicating that a cleric of death had fallen beneath a Ranen axe at some point in the past.

Horrock stopped at a heavy stone door, clearly more recent than the rest of the basement complex, and reached inside his tunic for a large iron key. He opened the door and Bronwyn could instantly smell the rain again as she saw a stone staircase leading back up towards the ruined town of Ro Hail.

‘Things always look different when observed from higher up,’ Horrock said without turning, as he began to ascend the stairs.

Bronwyn and Hasim followed and found themselves standing on the shattered balcony of a large stone building looking out towards what had once been the northern wall of the town. It was still raining, though a cleverly built awning protected them from the weather. The balcony was large enough comfortably to seat a dozen or more people and it held several chairs, a large stone table and an open cupboard containing bottles of dark liquid.

‘Do you south folk drink ale, wine or something stronger?’ asked Horrock, sitting down in the largest chair and gently nudging the cupboard with his foot.

Hasim crouched down in front of the bottles and began looking through the various kinds of liquor. He picked up a large bottle, which looked to Bronwyn to be made of stone rather than glass, and held it up towards Horrock.

‘This is Volk frost beer. It’s worth a small fortune in Ro Tiris,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye.

‘I’d better finish it before you steal it, then,’ said Horrock, grabbing the bottle from Hasim’s hand and removing the stopper.

Bronwyn sat opposite him and suddenly felt exhausted. She rubbed her eyes and breathed in and out heavily. Hasim put a comforting hand on her shoulder before taking a seat himself.

‘I think you’re safer than you’ve been for a few weeks, your ladyship,’ he said gently. ‘A drink couldn’t hurt. There’s some good Darkwald red in here.’

‘That’s the only bottle I have that was legally obtained,’ Horrock interjected, and Bronwyn again found it difficult to tell whether the Ranen chieftain was joking or not.

Each of them selected a drink and within minutes the rain changed from a persistent annoyance to a relaxing accompaniment to a well-deserved rest. Bronwyn sipped on a glass of full-bodied red wine, Hasim drank some Karesian desert nectar straight from the bottle and Horrock took small mouthfuls of the fiery Volk frost beer.

‘Now, am I expected to ask you questions?’ Horrock suddenly asked. ‘Or can we just assume I’ve asked them all and the two of you just tell me the whole story?’

Bronwyn nodded at Hasim, signifying that he should begin.

‘Well, it’s quite simple really, Algenon Teardrop sent me to find out why a Karesian enchantress was in Canarn.’ He looked down at the floor and continued. ‘It seems she was there to orchestrate the sacking of the city and the murder and imprisonment of its people.’ There was regret in his voice. ‘I found this out a bit late, though… around the same time I found out that the bitch had a company of Red knights suckling on her tits.’

Horrock narrowed his eyes. In Bronwyn’s estimation, the man of Wraith would have known about the assault on her home, but not about the Seven Sisters’ involvement. The Ranen considered the enchantresses their enemies and their presence was not tolerated as it was in Tor Funweir. The One God, it seemed, was less quick to anger than Rowanoco. Long ago, the Order of the Hammer had forbidden the Sisters from entering the Freelands.

‘And you’ve told Teardrop this?’ Horrock asked.

Hasim nodded. ‘He gave me a cloud stone. I used it after the battle, so he knows roughly what happened.’

Ranen cloud stones were made from the deep ice of Fjorlan and the northern lords often used them to communicate across great distances. Bronwyn had seen a few in her time, and Magnus had explained that they allowed words to travel through the void of the Giants to reach anyone the speaker desired. He had evidently thought that was an adequate explanation. Suffice to say, they were powerful and much-coveted items.