by A. J. Smith
‘I see a Ro,’ grumbled a man.
‘A Ro with a nice arse,’ joked another, receiving a playful slap from a nearby woman.
‘And a beautiful young boy,’ sneered a third, licking his lips at Micah.
The men of the Crescent who had escorted them stopped at the edge of the incline, with only Barron Crow Friend moving into the depression. Bronwyn and Stone Dog stood in the light, in plain view of those seated below. Micah was glaring at the man who’d spoken, a man with a piggish face and an unpleasant sneer on his fat cheeks.
‘Stop looking at me, pretty boy,’ said the man. ‘You’ve already got an arrow in you, you don’t want my cock as well.’
Micah, more confident than Bronwyn, slumped down the incline, favouring his right side, and stood in front of the man. ‘Talk to me again, you fat fuck, and I’ll stick my foot down your fucking throat.’
A few people of the Crescent laughed, but most looked angry. Barron turned to look at Stone Dog with raised eyebrows, but didn’t intercede. The fat man spat out a lump of hard bread and pulled himself forward into a seated position.
‘You aren’t scary, pretty boy,’ he said, with a vile leer on his face.
With surprising speed, given his injury, Micah kicked the man in the face and leapt on to him, smashing his fists into the piggish man’s jaw.
‘Am I scary now, you troll cunt?’ he roared, taking out his frustration on the unlucky man. Blood was seeping from the wound in Micah’s side, but anger was overriding the pain.
Others moved out of the way, surprised at the man of Wraith’s ferocity, but Barron and several others darted forward and grabbed him by the shoulders. He ignored them and didn’t stop punching the fat man until he was pulled out of range. By the time he was upright, the man on the floor was a bloody mess.
‘That was a mistake, boy,’ shouted Barron, as Micah, still swearing, was thrown to the floor.
Warm Heart, who had watched the fight with interest, let out a low growl and pointed his head towards Dragneel’s unconscious body. Bronwyn was again surprised at the way the Ranen responded to the hound, as all those present grew silent at his growl.
‘Barron, are you upsetting my friend again?’ said a voice from the far side of the depression. The speaker was obscured by the fire, but spoke with an impossibly deep voice and made Barron look nervous.
Warm Heart rose from his haunches and loped over to Stone Dog. The huge hound nudged him upright and lapped gently at the arrow protruding from his side.
Barron helped him stand. ‘Sorry, I didn’t even ask your name, lad.’
Micah, still seething with rage, was desperately trying to ignore the wound in his side and appear strong, but his legs gave way and Barron had to catch him. Weakly, through gritted teeth, he said, ‘I’m Stone Dog,’ before passing out from loss of blood.
Suddenly everyone was looking at Bronwyn. The war-hound was nudging his muzzle against Micah’s chest, but he was unresponsive. The nervous Ro noblewoman realized that she would have to do the talking now.
‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ said the deep voice. ‘We won’t hurt you.’
Barron left Stone Dog and offered his hand to help Bronwyn down the incline. His eyes kept darting across to Dragneel and she was glad that he was showing concern for the priest’s survival. Around the edges of the depression, standing above the others and armed with their bows, were Dawn Sun Runner and the other tattooed raiders. In total, Bronwyn could see several dozen men and women of the Crescent looking at her.
‘Come round the fire, love,’ said the deep voice. ‘Sit by me.’
She walked with Barron past many faces. Most were curious or friendly, though some muttered insults at her. Bronwyn had never been more aware that she was a Ro.
‘Lady Bronwyn, may I introduce you to Federick Two Hearts,’ announced Barron, coming to a stop in front of several cushions.
The far side of the depression was covered with wooden planks and the deep-voiced man was reclining on his back, smoking a pipe. Four women, all armed with multiple small knives, joined him on the cushions. They looked similar enough for Bronwyn to suppose they were his daughters.
Federick Two Hearts, Ranen chieftain of the Moon Wood, was a grey-haired and muscular man. His height was difficult to gauge, but she thought he was tall and his arms, exposed across his chest, were bulky and scarred.
‘You are... the leader here?’ asked Bronwyn hesitantly.
‘Chieftain,’ replied Two Hearts, his voice even deeper at close range. ‘Call me Federick.’
‘Very well.’ She looked again at Micah and Dragneel, neither of whom was moving. ‘I don’t wish to be rude, but my friends need help.’
‘One-leg is familiar to me,’ said Barron. ‘He’s a man of the World Raven.’
This made Federick sit up and give his pipe to one of his daughters. ‘He’s a priest? And you shot him... why?’
‘Dawn was being impetuous,’ replied Barron, dropping his head and focusing on the floor.
Federick glanced round, looking at the eldest woman sitting next to him. ‘Aesyr, go and fetch some rowan oak sap and help Barron save the priest’s life.’
The woman nodded and sprang to her feet, directing a challenging glare at Bronwyn as she did so. ‘Yes, Father,’ she said respectfully.
Barron followed after Aesyr to help Dragneel.
‘You can stay here, my love,’ said Federick, retrieving his pipe and patting the cushion next to him.
‘What about Stone Dog?’ she asked.
‘Why should I help him?’ It was said casually and the deep rumble conveyed scorn. ‘He attacked one of mine.’
She was uncertain how to respond. Her confidence, fragile for months now, was beginning to crack. Suddenly she felt like crying.
‘Just help him,’ she cried, her voice rising.
Two Hearts’ mouth slipped into a smile. His face wrinkled up and he moved into the firelight. The chieftain was around fifty years of age and had a wild glint in his eyes.
‘We’re not a Free Company, love. I do what I want, not what I’m told.’
‘You’re still Ranen,’ pleaded Bronwyn.
‘And you’re Ro. You’re lucky I don’t skin you, given what the bastards did to South Warden.’
She paused, the tears disappearing. ‘You have word from South Warden?’ They’d left weeks ago and had no idea what had transpired on the Plains of Scarlet.
‘Birds and beasts speak to Warm Heart,’ was the cryptic response from Federick. ‘We know what happens around our woods.’
The hound appeared at her side. It had been silent and made her jump as it began to lick her hand.
‘He likes you,’ said Federick. ‘He can smell Brytag on you.’
She nodded, finding the presence of the hound strangely calming. ‘Brytag likes twins.’
‘I see.’ There was no reason Two Hearts would know anything of Tor Funweir, but he was clearly interested in her connection to the World Raven, though it was a connection she didn’t fully understand herself.
‘Tell me of South Warden,’ asked Bronwyn, not sure whether to talk to the chieftain or the Volk war-hound.
‘They sacked it,’ replied Federick plainly. ‘Killed everyone and moved in.’
She was stunned. Her legs felt weak.
She thought of Wraith Company, of Horrock and Haffen. She thought of Scarlet Company, of Johan Long Shadow and his warriors. And, with tears returning to her eyes, she thought of Al-Hasim and Brother Lanry.
‘I don’t know how many survived, maybe a few hundred. Most of Long Shadow’s men were massacred. Last we heard, the knights were still there, thousands of them.’ Two Hearts did not appear callous, but the tone of his deep voice was unemotional. ‘There is no Scarlet Company, not any more.’
Bronwyn had no words. She was alone in a strange land and her reason for being there was gone. The people she’d got to know over the last few months, people she’d grown to respect and even love, were most likely all dead. The ki
ng’s invasion was doing its work well. First Canarn, then Ro Hail and now South Warden. Ro Canarn had recovered, but it had not been the goal. She wondered how long it would take the Freelands of Ranen to recover – if they ever did.
‘You’re in danger,’ she said, through quivering lips. ‘They won’t stop. I don’t know what they want, but they won’t stop.’
Two Hearts again patted the cushion next to him. ‘I’ll have the young lad cared for if you come and sit by me, love.’
She shook her head, maddened by the man’s casual attitude. ‘Do you not care what’s happening to Ranen?’
He shrugged and his remaining three daughters started to giggle. ‘She needs to relax, Father,’ said the youngest, a girl of perhaps eighteen.
‘She does,’ agreed Federick. ‘Have a smoke, Bronwyn.’ He offered her his pipe.
‘I’d rather not,’ she said pointedly.
Two Hearts chuckled, more of a rumble than a laugh. ‘Okay. Ossa, go and help the young axe-man.’
Another of his daughters stood up and crossed the depression. Bronwyn watched her move towards Stone Dog and was glad that he looked to be slowly regaining consciousness. She also noticed that the people of the Crescent were no longer looking at her and had returned to their boisterous drinking and smoking.
With a deep breath, and beginning to feel light-headed, Bronwyn sat down on a plump green cushion. Her head began to throb with pain as the hours of intense and painful activity caught up with her.
Two Hearts put a casual arm round her shoulder and she was too tired to object. ‘The world moves without you worrying about it, love. The worry doesn’t change anything.’
She looked up at the muscular chieftain and was greeted with a twitchy grin. Whatever he was smoking was having an effect and she, too, wished for the oblivion such things provided. She had never been exposed to drugs, her upbringing in Canarn had been rather sheltered, but she thought that if she were to develop a drug habit it might be a rational response to her situation.
‘Maybe I should just stop trying to be a good person,’ she muttered, causing a ripple of drugged laughter from Federick’s remaining daughters.
‘Well, you’ll have some time to reflect on it, my sweet. You’ll be with us for a while,’ announced the chieftain, removing his arm from Bronwyn’s shoulders and touching a flame to his pipe. ‘A noblewoman of Ro doesn’t just go for a walk under the Moon. What are you doing here?’ He exhaled. ‘And if you lie to me, I’ll cut something off you and ask again.’
She looked at him. For a moment Bronwyn was angry. She knew she should be anxious, or even scared, but after so long away from home she was too tired to be intimidated.
‘I’m going to Ranen Gar to ask Dominic Black Claw for... something. Help, I suppose.’ The words felt hollow.
Two Hearts smiled and coughed. The sound was a gravelly snarl and produced phlegm that flew into the fire.
Bronwyn breathed in deeply. ‘The king has invaded. He’s taken Ro Hail and South Warden. He’ll march north next.’
‘And why would he do that?’ he asked, wiping his mouth.
‘How should I know? Why would he invade in the first place? But do you think he’ll stop?’
‘I think he’d be a mad man to march into the Moon Wood,’ stated Federick.
‘He’s got an army. You, as far as I can tell, have trees,’ she replied, not caring if he took offence.
‘Cheeky bitch,’ he replied, showing her a wild smile.
‘You’re not used to talking to nobility, are you?’
Federick’s voice contorted into an intermittent growl. It was perhaps a laugh, but sounded like an animal’s snarl.
‘What makes you noble, young lady?’ he asked.
Sudden anger. ‘My father, my brother, my family. The weight of responsibility I feel for my people.’
Two Hearts looked at her and stopped laughing. ‘You’re sincere, my love, so I won’t mock you, but your lands, your family and whatever else you care to mention mean nothing here.’
‘I’m not the one who’s ignoring an army of Red knights. If either of us is delusional, it’s you.’ She paused. ‘And stop calling me love.’
‘I call everyone love, don’t take it personally.’
‘Well, call me Bronwyn, if you would be so kind.’ Her words came with a curtness that made the Ranen smile again.
‘When and if the Red men enter the Moon Woods, we’ll know. And when and if they do, we’ll kill them. Do you think this happy gathering is the only camp we have?’
She felt like swearing at him, but remembered her manners. ‘It would seem prudent to at least call the other Moon clans.’
‘Would it now? Prudent?’ asked Two Hearts, trying not to laugh.
‘Oh, just... be quiet,’ she snapped.
The chieftain leant forward and looked at her. ‘Worry doesn’t change anything,’ he repeated. ‘I’m not going to kill you... if that helps.’
‘It doesn’t,’ she replied. ‘Not at all.’
She tried to tune out the chattering voices and retreat into the peace of her mind. Warm Heart loped away and disappeared into the southern trees. Federick Two Hearts carried on smoking and making vulgar conversation. Micah and Dragneel were taken away and transferred to high tree houses.
Hours may have passed as she sat in the Ranen settlement, but she was too tired to notice and too alert to sleep.
* * *
Al-Hasim was sick of running. He’d lost his horse to a few well-aimed crossbow bolts several hours ago. Since then, he’d been running through the Moon Woods. Somewhere ahead of him, hopefully not too far away, was Bronwyn, and he was determined to find her before the knights found him.
Fallon’s genius plan – to send him ahead as a makeshift diplomat – had hit an early snag when a large patrol from South Warden had spotted him and given chase. Their armour had slowed them down, but Al-Hasim was now on foot and was not able to gain any distance on the Red knights.
All he could see was trees and snow. The trees were tall and looming, and the snow was deep and freezing cold. He had been further north, having spent much time in Fjorlan, but he’d only ever visited Fredericksand and rarely strayed far from the fire-pits. Trudging through a snowy forest in the middle of nowhere was arguably the most unpleasant thing he’d ever done.
‘Karesian, halt!’ The horseman had appeared from behind a tree. He was an armed knight of the Red, wrapped in a thick cloak and holding a longsword across his chest.
‘Er... no,’ replied Hasim, darting to the left and raising his knees high to gain purchase in the deep snow.
‘Halt!’ the knight repeated, wheeling his horse and trying to manoeuvre after the fleeing man.
Hasim drew his scimitar and kept a wide tree trunk between him and the knight. He couldn’t see or hear any others in pursuit and he hoped the man was an advance scout of some kind. The Red knight was a skilled rider and kept his horse under control, cutting off Hasim’s escape and driving him towards a dense bramble thicket.
Hasim swore under his breath as the snow hampered his escape. He couldn’t run quickly and any movement required considerable exertion.
‘Right, come on then!’ he snapped, when all avenues of escape had been explored and discarded.
The knight pulled back on his reins and the large warhorse reared, kicking out at Hasim. He rolled out of the way, narrowly missing a downward sword stroke. The knight wheeled round, keeping Hasim trapped.
‘Just forget you found me,’ he said, doing an ungainly forward roll into the snow.
‘Submit to justice,’ replied the knight, pressing his advantage.
Through a combination of agility and blind luck Hasim managed to avoid being trampled by the horse. He got to his feet, his back to a tree, and stood ready.
The knight turned his horse sharply, knocking Hasim back and spilling the air from his lungs. Face down in the snow, he rolled sideways, pulling himself under a dense mass of brambles.
‘Just fuck o
ff!’
The horse trampled forward, crushing the brambles and driving Hasim back into the open.
Then a dog barked. Or maybe it was a dozen dogs barking. Either way, it was loud and alarmingly close, cutting through the sound of armour and horse.
Hasim rolled out of the brambles and lay face to face with a huge, snarling dog. It had massively muscled shoulders and a squat muzzle, but he didn’t register much past the slobbering mouth and abundance of teeth.
‘Good dog,’ he stuttered, forgetting about the horse and backing away.
‘Back, beast,’ shouted the knight, pointing his sword at the dog.
The warhorse stamped at the ground in alarm and shook its head violently. More barking and the horse stuttered backward, nearly throwing its rider. Hasim crawled through the snow, his face and hands cut by brambles, trying to get clear of the dog and the knight. Luckily, they seemed more concerned with one another than with the cowering Karesian.
The dog pounced. Its back legs braced for a moment, displacing the snow, then it leapt at the knight. As big as it was, it couldn’t reach the knight’s body, so settled for a mouthful of leg. The chain skirts that protected his legs proved no impediment to the beast’s powerful jaws. A scream, a spray of blood, and the knight was yanked from his saddle. He flailed at the snow, trying to force open the dog’s mouth as it shook him violently, biting deep into his thigh. The knight was tiny compared with the dog and his strength waned quickly. His laboured screams became gargles as the dog flung him around, mauling the fallen man.
‘Well, you two seem to be getting on well. Don’t let me get in the way,’ muttered Al-Hasim, crawling slowly away from the spectacle.
The gargling ended and the knight stopped moving. Hopefully, he tasted good and the dog would not feel the need to turn round and add Karesian to his diet.
‘Stay on your belly, man of the sun,’ said a voice.
Hasim rolled over swiftly, bringing his scimitar to bear. In front of him, half hidden in the snowy brush, were a dozen people. They were bare-chested and marked with the blue designs of Crescent night-raiders. He had heard of them, and he hoped they were friendly.
