The Red Knight (76 page)

He let her do it.

‘Not many folk can say they’ve struck Bad Tom and lived to tell the tale,’ he said. He flashed a crooked smile in the early morning light, and she turned and fled.

Lissen Carak – Thorn

Thorn watched the farms burn with no great satisfaction. It was a cheap victory, but it would help break the will of the farmers to resist him.

He shrugged inwardly. Or it would harden their resolve to fight to the end. Now they had nothing to save but themselves, and even when he’d been a man, he’d had trouble understanding
men. And, increasingly, he felt this contest was too complex for even his intellect. He had made himself the Captain of the Wild, and yet his own interests were scarcely engaged, here. He was far
more interested in the puzzle that was the dark sun, and in
her
, then he was in the prosecution of the siege.

He wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing here, and how he’d ended up so committed to this action that he was willing to risk himself in combat. Last night he’d taken
his invincible new form out onto the field, and the fortress had hurt him. None of the blows he had taken were deadly, but he felt the pain of his exertions and their blows. The pain had angered
him, and in anger he had unleashed some of his carefully hoarded power – enough to damage the fabric of the fortress. It had impressed his allies, but the cost—

Again, he rustled his leaves in what would have been a shrug, in a man.

Last night, he had felt the breath of mortality for the first time in twenty years. He didn’t like the smell of it. Or the pain.

But as the siege continued it was becoming a rallying point for the Wild in the North Country, and despite minor set-backs, more and more creatures were coming in. His prestige was increasing,
and that prestige would directly affect a rise in his power.

None of which would matter if he were dead.

He thought of
her
.

He could no longer shake his head – it was now a continuous armoured growth from his neck, and he had to pivot around the waist to look to the left and right. But he made an odd clucking
sound as he considered her. She had attempted to hurt him directly, last night.

And finally, he considered the third presence in the fortress besides the dark sun. Power – cold, blue power – had struck him. Pure power, untrammelled by doubt or youth. Trained and
honed, like fine steel.

It was his apprentice, of course. Had Thorn been able to smile, he would have.

Harmodius.

There was a solvable problem.

Lissen Carak – Amicia

Amicia stood on the wall watching the world burn. She didn’t notice him until he was at her shoulder.

‘It was a matter of time,’ he said, as if they had been in conversation all morning.

She wasn’t sure, in truth, if she wanted to say anything. She didn’t want to look at him – didn’t want him to see how committed she was, or how angry.

‘He has to show his allies that he is making progress.’ The captain leaned on the crenellation and pointed to the western edge of the woods. ‘His men are building a pair of
trebuchets. Before the end of the day, we’ll be feeling their power. Not because it will actually help him win, but because it will make his allies see him as—’

If she kept listening to him she would . . .

She turned on her heel and walked away.

He hurried to catch up to her.

‘People are watching,’ she hissed. ‘I am a novice in this convent. I am
not
your lover. Let me go, please.’

‘Why?’ he asked. He seized her arm in a steel grip. He was hurting her.

‘Let me go,’ she said. ‘Or you are no knight.’

‘Then I am no knight. Why? Why change your mind so suddenly?’ He leaned towards her. ‘I have not changed mine.’

She hadn’t meant to have a conversation. She bit her lip, and looked around for a miracle. Sister Miram. The Abbess. ‘Don’t you have to do something? Save somebody? Give
orders?’ she asked. ‘Why not go and save the farms?’

‘That’s unfair!’ he said. and let go of her arm. ‘No one is watching us. I would know.’ He shrugged. ‘I cannot save the farms. And I’d rather be here,
with you.’

‘You want me to have that on my soul, as well? That in addition to breaking my vows, I am endangering the fortress?’

He smiled his wicked smile. ‘It’s worked on other girls,’ he said.

‘I imagine it works all the time.’ She put her chin as high as she could manage. ‘I do not choose to be your whore, Captain. I don’t even know your name. Girls like me
don’t get to know the names of the great lords who try to put their knees between our legs, do we? But I am choosing to say no. You are not afraid of Jesus, and you are not afraid of the
Abbess. So I cannot appeal to you along those lines. But By God, messire, I can protect myself. If you lay a hand on me again, I will hit you hard.’

He looked at her.

He had tears in his eyes, and she hesitated. But she’d made her decision, and she carried it through. She walked away, and didn’t look back.

It was difficult for her to decide
why
she was so angry. It was difficult for her to say – even to herself –
why
she was choosing to walk away. But he was not for her,
despite the feeling that her very soul was screaming as she walked down the steps.

Despite the look, like agony, on his face.

Lissen Carak – Harmodius

Harmodius

He couldn’t shut it out. Once two entities of power are linked, the link is forever. He couldn’t shut Thorn out, but he could wall him off.

Harmodius

That is, he could mostly wall him off.

Harmodius was sitting cross-legged under an ancient apple tree that stood alone on the battlements, in a stone circle. It was a beautiful thing, in full flower, and it was redolent with power.
The seat under it was placed to absorb the power that flowed, as if from a well or a spring, around the place. Somewhere just under his feet, was the well spring. It appeared neither green nor
golden. It merely
was.

Harmodius drank as deeply as he dared.

Harmodius

Would it really hurt to talk to his former master?

It was dangerous. If he opened the link, Thorn might try to overwhelm him with raw power.

But sitting here, on the bench by the apple tree, he didn’t think Thorn could take him before he could close the link. He wasn’t like the boy. The boy—

To hell with it.

Hello Richard.

I knew you would respond.

It must be satisfying to be right all the time.

Don’t be snide, Harmodius. You hurt me, last night. You have grown very powerful.

I killed your mortal body at Chevin, old man.

Yes. But I knew how to deal with that. And I out-subtled myself, of course.
There was a suggestion of smugness.
How was my world of mirrors, boy?

Harmodius thought for a moment.
Very subtle, you bastard. How did you bind the spirits to the cats?

So nice to discourse with someone intelligent. You learned to leave your body then? Ahh! I see you have not. Interesting.

Harmodius didn’t think he could damage his cause by honesty. No more than by having any contact with Thorn.
Why are you fighting here?
he asked.
Must it be war?

Harmodius! How unlike you! You wish to negotiate with the power of evil? I thought that you had chosen a different path.

I have come to realise that there is nothing intrinsically evil about the Wild. Or good about the Sun.

Ahh.
Thorn gave a suggestion of great pleasure.
You have learned much, then.

I am still struggling with the concept
Harmodius admitted.

The Wild is far more powerful. Men are doomed. They have no role to play in the future. Too fragmented. Too weak.

That’s not how I see it
Harmodius shot back.
From where I sit, it is the Wild who is losing.

You delude yourself.

Not as effectively as you deluded me.

Let me make it up to you with knowledge. Look. This is how you can possess anybody you choose. And here – this is how to build your own body. See? I give you this knowledge freely.
Come. Be a god. You are worthy. And I’m bored—

Harmodius laughed aloud.
Bored of monsters and pining for decent company? You betrayed your king and all of humanity, you piece of shit.
As swiftly as he could, with all the borrowed
power of the well, he slammed the link closed.

He sat back against the bole of the tree and examined the conversation.

‘I think that went well,’ he said aloud.

But Thorn had planted something in him, a seed in damp soil. It was like finding a beautifully wrapped package on your doorstep.

He put the packages in a room in his memory palace, and he carefully walled that room off from his consciousness. He twinned off a second self to remain in the room.

The second self opened the first package. A third self stood ready with an axe.

The phantasm was heartbreakingly beautiful. Thorn had been a great magus, of course.

Harmodius allowed his second self to subsume himself in the complexities of the working.

He shut down the room, withdrew his second self, and sat in another created room in his memory palace, a comfortable room with a circle of armchairs. His second self sat in another, wrote the
phantasms out in longhand, and they discussed them in detail. His third self stood behind the second with an axe.

Suddenly he understood how the cats had been used.

He understood how his former master was using animals to watch the fortress.

He understood how he could possess the body of any creature he wanted, unless they had the power to resist him. How he could subsume their essence – in effect, eat that part of a mortal
that Harmodius thought of as the soul.

For power.

And take the mortal body for his own, or make one.

Harmodius let the knowledge roll around inside his head for a little. And found himself watching a mongrel dog – one of the mercenaries had brought the animal into Lissen Carak –
rooting in the midden heap that was beginning to fill the courtyard. Eventually, the dog would be eaten, if the siege went on.

I could just try it on the dog.

The dog is going to die, anyway.

The dog turned and looked at Harmodius. She tilted her head to one side, watching to see if the man had anything interesting to offer.

Power poured out around him.
No wonder the creatures of the Wild want this place back
, Harmodius thought. He reached out to the power, took a taste, and ran it through the
phantasm—

And made a motion of negation with his hands, cancelling the working and draining the power into the walls of the fortress.

He got to his feet and grinned at the dog. ‘You’ve got to draw the line somewhere,’ he said aloud.

He did that on purpose, the subtle bastard. He’s inviting me to fall.

Harmodius could smell breakfast, and he decided he needed to be with people.

East of Albinkirk– Ranald

Ranald was tired, and he wept a great deal. He wasted an afternoon trying to catch a horse. At every step, he expected to find the drag, the rear guard, or another survivor. But
he saw no one.

He wasted more time at the edge of the battlefield, trying to find his pack.

Eventually he gave up and walked, wet when it rained, scorched when the sun shone. He had nothing to cook with, nothing to eat, and no means of acquiring food

On the evening of the fourth day after the fight, he walked up the lane to the great Inn. Men shouted when they saw him.

Every man and woman in the dale came running, when they knew whom he was. And because he was his cousin’s tanist, they thought, at first, that his appearance must bode well.

But when they came closer, they saw the tracks of his tears, and the sword. And they knew.

By the time he walked the last few paces to the porch of the great Inn, the Keeper alone barred his way, and he was grim-faced. ‘Greetings, Ranald Lachlan,’ he said. ‘Tell me
how many were lost?’

Ranald had no trouble meeting the Keeper’s eye. Death made you less careful of such things.

‘They’re all dead,’ he said. ‘Every man of us. I, too, was dead.’

They gasped, the folk of the Dale, and then the tears began, and the wail of loss, the roar of rage.

Ranald Lachlan told his story quickly, and without embellishment. And then he turned to the weeping woman who stood by her father. ‘Here’s his sword,’ Ranald said. ‘If
you bear him a son, he says the boy is to avenge him.’

‘That’s a heavy load to lay on an unborn bairn’s shoulders,’ the Keeper said.

Ranald shrugged. ‘It’s not my choice,’ he said wearily.

Later, he sat in the Keeper’s own rooms, and told the story of the last fight. Hector’s wife listened through her tears. And when he was done, she looked at him long, and mean.

‘Why’d they send you back, then?’ she spat. ‘When they might have sent my love?’

Ranald shrugged.

The Keeper shook his head. ‘Too many men lost, along with the whole herd.’ He put his chin in his hand. ‘I’ll be hard pressed if they turn on the Dale.’

Ranald didn’t even pretend to be interested. And the Keeper let him go.

He was not interested when the men in the Inn offered him ale.

He wasn’t interested when the woman of the Inn offered themselves, nor when a travelling player offered to make a song of the battle.

He slept, and the next day he was just as numb as he had been the day before, and the day before that. But he went down from his room to the common room at dawn, and there he faced the Keeper
and asked for a horse and gear.

‘You can’t mean to go fight the Outwallers all by yourself,’ the Keeper said, gruffly.