The Long War 03 - The Red Prince

by A. J. Smith

  Rorg grunted, still dismissive of the axe-maiden before him. ‘I knew your father, girl. One of my people pledged their fate to him. Your name is strong.’ He looked her up and down. ‘But your body is not.’

  Again, Halla wished she didn’t have the walking stick. ‘My father travelled to the Low Kast many times. I am not him, though I am a Summer Wolf.’

  ‘She is our captain,’ offered Wulfrick. ‘Each of us would die for her. We would kill for her.’

  ‘Aye!’ agreed Oleff. ‘Halla is a better leader than any I have known beyond Algenon Teardrop himself.’

  She tried not to blush with pride. She kept her head upright and her eyes hard. ‘Ally with us and fight back against the betrayer... or we fight and you die.’

  Rorg motioned his men to stand, though Unrahgahr kept out of the way, lulled into contented growling by Anya’s petting. The men of the Low Kast assembled behind their chieftain with axes held in grimy hands.

  ‘We will travel with you, Daughter of the Wolf, and give you a chance to earn our fate, as your father did.’

  ‘And the troll?’ she asked.

  ‘He and his family go where we go. They are a gift from Varorg, a means to defend the land of the Ice Father.’

  ‘His family?’ queried Oleff. ‘Mums and kids and stuff?’

  Rorg nodded. ‘Ten of them, though Unrahgahr is the patriarch.’

  ‘Halla,’ asked Wulfrick, ‘are we seriously considering adding ten trolls to our company?’

  ‘They do not eat men,’ offered Rorg. ‘They are as much children of Varorg as you or I.’

  Halla considered. She had a significant force now, hardened battle-brothers ready to die for Fjorlan, but there was still doubt in her mind. The Bear’s Mouth would be a hard fight and thirty berserkers and a family of trolls could only assist their efforts.

  ‘Okay, you come,’ she said. ‘We are fighting for Fjorlan. As long as you remember that, we’ll get on fine.’

  ‘Agreed,’ replied Rorg. ‘I will give you notice when I intend to kill the axe-master.’ He thrust his chin forward at Wulfrick.

  Halla laughed. ‘Very well, but I don’t think he’ll die easily.’

  Wulfrick frowned. ‘Why do you want to fight me? Basically, I just pushed you over.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Rorg said. ‘We will fight, face to face and honourably, and I will kill you... but not today.’

  Oleff chuckled and Halla raised her eyebrow. Wulfrick said nothing.

  ‘We are leaving Jarvik within the week,’ said Halla, trying to prevent Wulfrick reacting. ‘Grammah Black Eyes holds the Bear’s Mouth and we need to punch through it before we can enter the Wolf Wood.’

  Rorg thrust his chin forward. ‘We will contact more men and beasts and they will meet us in the realm of Summer Wolf.’

  ‘Contact them how?’ she asked. ‘You have cloud-stones?’

  ‘No. The Ice Men have means of talking to each other. We call it the keening chain. The words pass from one troll to the next until the message has reached its destination.’

  ‘Interesting,’ was all Halla could think to say.

  CHAPTER 7

  GWENDOLYN OF HUNTER’S CROSS IN THE DUCHY OF HARAN

  THE KISS WAS hard, deep and passionate. She closed her eyes and melted into Xander’s embrace. She didn’t understand love, but knew that she felt it. From her head to her toes, her body rippled, trying to get as close as possible to the warm flesh that pressed against her. She ached for him – his mind, his warmth, his being. Whatever he would give, she would take and lose herself in ecstasy as she took it.

  He paused and their eyes met for a second.

  ‘I need you,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve never needed anything. But I need you.’

  She tenderly touched his face and gasped as he thrust forward. Grabbing the back of his neck, she smiled. ‘Talk is for daylight, my love.’

  Clamping her teeth to his chest, Gwen wrapped her legs around his waist and growled in longing. Xander responded and the only sounds to come out of his mouth were primal sounds of passion.

  * * *

  Gwen never woke gently when she slept under canvas. The command pavilion she shared with her husband was cold and kept out no wind or nightly noise. No matter how much she tried to shut out the sound of soldiers at their rest, the five thousand Hawks were loud throughout the night.

  She always rose before her husband, enjoying the morning air and solitude that an early start provided. For company during these quiet hours she had the camp servants who built fires and prepared food for the officers. Most of the Hawks looked after themselves, but some traditions – such as the reluctance of the nobility to erect their own tents – made servants a requirement.

  Her own body servant, a naive young girl called Lennifer, was constantly following her around and asking strange questions about her hair and clothing. Lennifer had not yet grasped that Gwen was not particularly interested in clothes and preferred to be clad in simple leather. On the rare occasions when she had to make an effort, she wore her long black hair down and a simple blue dress.

  When at Xander’s court in Ro Haran, Lennifer was a constant and reassuring presence. She gave Gwen good advice regarding the nuances of noble life for which her upbringing in Hunter’s Cross had not prepared her. However, the young girl had not adapted well during their extended absence from the city.

  ‘My lady.’ Lennifer was smiling the vacuous smile of a girl unsure of her place in the military camp. ‘A pleasant morning.’

  ‘You don’t need to get up at the same time as me. I’m aware I rise earlier than most,’ said Gwen, placing a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder.

  Lennifer wore a brown smock – not quite a dress – and woollen trousers, gathered at the waist with a silvery brocade. She’d abandoned any attempt at formal or feminine dress within a few days of leaving Haran, primarily on the advice of her lady. The last thing soldiers need around them is a young, unobtainable woman.

  ‘It is a pleasure to serve, my lady,’ replied the girl.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Gwen continued her wandering, content that Lennifer would follow her whether she requested it or not.

  Looking southwards from the camp, past a hundred tents, dozens of carts and numerous small smithies and cooking fires, Gwen could see the slight shimmer that marked the location of Ro Haran. The river men, who normally made the flat lands a vibrant and friendly place, had retreated back to their isolated farmsteads and left the duchy to the wind and the beasts.

  It was a strange and lonely sight, a natural vista of green, grey and brown, from the Walls of Ro to the Stone Coast. Gwen loved this land. She had been here for ten years and felt a bond with the simple folk of Haran beyond anything she had experienced elsewhere in Tor Funweir. She disliked Tiris and found Arnon too reserved, whereas the westernmost duchy of the Ro was isolated and less arrogant.

  ‘There is a rumour, my lady,’ muttered Lennifer under her breath.

  Gwen smiled. ‘Soldiers gossip as much as courtiers, it would seem.’

  ‘They say...’ The young girl was nervous about repeating the rumour and leant forward as if she were being naughty. ‘They say that we’ll be returning to the city soon. Is it true?’

  ‘It depends how much you trust the skill of a Kirin assassin,’ replied Gwen.

  ‘One of the cooks says that he’s killed two already.’ Lennifer was more in tune with the gossip of the Hawks than her mistress.

  ‘He claimed three, but he may not be trustworthy. That is also the answer to whether or not we’re going home – he says so, but he may not be trustworthy.’

  ‘And then?’ asked Lennifer. ‘When we get home. What happens then?’

  Gwen smiled warmly. They both knew that Tor Funweir was slowly imploding, annexed by the Karesian Hounds and swayed to a dark new religion by the enchantresses. The answer to these myriad problems was more complex than Xander believed and Gwen could not bring herself to trust in strength of arms, whether or not
Rham Jas could do as he claimed.

  ‘I think a war is brewing. I think it may have started already. We’ve just yet to take the field,’ she replied. ‘Our lord will act with equal parts passion and conviction. Hopefully, we’ll find victory between the two.’

  The serving girl frowned, not fully understanding what Gwen said. ‘I’ve never been to war.’ Her words were spoken through a sheen of barely disguised fear.

  ‘I wish I could say that I hadn’t, but Hunter’s Cross spent years fighting Red knights and yeomen. War is loud and bloody. It gets under your skin and stays there.’ She softened her eyes and looked at the young girl. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t need you to dress me on the battlefield.’

  ‘It’s my duty to accompany you, my lady.’

  ‘It’s not your duty to die, Lennifer. I’ll have a tent. You can stay in it while I kill Hounds.’

  Gwen was not eager to fight anyone, but she took her vows seriously. She had made vows to Xander and to the people of the duchy. Those obligations weighed heavily on her shoulders, and the lady of Haran knew that the Hounds were a threat to them both. They would hunt and kill their people and turn Xander into a slave. She would not allow either while she had strength.

  Lennifer giggled, her cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

  ‘What’s funny?’ asked Gwen.

  ‘Sorry, my lady. It’s hearing you talk of fighting. My father was old-fashioned, he didn’t allow me to wear trousers, let alone a blade.’

  The men of Ro were a notoriously misogynistic bunch, believing in the One God’s principle that women were to be the gentle counterpoint to the warrior men of Tor Funweir. That ignorant horse shit had never fully penetrated the northern lands of Hunter’s Cross, the Darkwald or Canarn. Gwen had been raised as the equal of any man she knew. Her Dokkalfar leaf-blades were always at her side and she knew how to kill with them. It was a simple matter to cut flesh and an easy lesson to learn where would cause the most damage. She was skilled at opening a man’s neck, slicing his tendons, rupturing his groin. It was Dokkalfar fencing, a style designed to kill, and it had served her well.

  She continued her wandering, past tents and cook fires, gazing across the plains. Lennifer followed, but said nothing more, leaving her mistress to her silent contemplation. To the south, far across the duchy, lay Ro Haran, her home for ten years. If the Kirin assassin could truly do what he claimed, they’d be able to return home soon. The small comfort this provided was eclipsed by the sure knowledge that they would not be staying long in the city. Xander intended to muster his army and sail to Canarn. After that, Gwen could only guess at their ultimate destination.

  The Hawks of Ro would go to war. They would liberate Ro Tiris, and then what? She hated the idea of a long campaign but she could not see any alternative for Tor Funweir. Her husband was stubborn and he had made up his mind. She’d always known that his name was a heavy burden, but it was a burden he’d so far been able to ignore. As the king’s younger brother and a man not gifted with the skills of courtly intrigue, Xander had never been destined to rule. Being duke of Haran was difficult enough for him and he chose to style himself a general rather than a noble. But things were different now. His brother had been led astray and the Ro needed a Tiris to follow.

  The sound of approaching horses dragged her back to her surroundings as a small patrol returned to camp. She had wandered as far as the southern stockade. A deep bugle sounded a muted note from a watchtower and Gwendolyn strode out to meet the Hawks. A few guards approached and, with Lennifer running along behind, they escorted the lady of Haran to greet the patrol.

  ‘My lady,’ greeted Captain Brennan, striking his breastplate. ‘We have news.’

  ‘From the city?’ she asked, trying to contain her eagerness to return home.

  He shook his head and began to dismount. The other four Hawks did the same and started to lead their tired horses back to camp.

  ‘Best we speak to the general, my lady,’ said Brennan, shaking the dust from his cloak. ‘The Kirin’s on his way back.’

  Her eyes widened. As the group hastened back to camp she began to feel a touch of optimism. If Rham Jas was alive, he had either run away or succeeded.

  ‘He fired a signal arrow an hour ago. Should be here soon.’ Brennan gave his reins to a nearby guard and left his patrol to rest and eat while he accompanied Gwen to the command pavilion.

  The bugle had alerted some of the Hawks and word was spreading through the army. Men emerged from their tents and started to whisper about returning to the city. Brennan waved away their queries and ordered them to go about their duties. He was the general’s senior scout, commanding a unit of rangers and he was harsh towards the common soldiers. He was also rather miserable and consumed with duty, making him poor company but an excellent soldier.

  ‘I don’t suppose the signal arrow indicated success... in any fashion?’ asked Gwen.

  Brennan looked at her. ‘No, my lady. It was just an arrow.’

  She smiled politely as they approached the pavilion. The guards on duty saluted and banged their fists in unison on their red breastplates. She swept aside the tent flap and strode inside, with Captain Brennan a step behind.

  The pavilion was split into a number of chambers and they had emerged into the main tent, adjoining the bedchamber that the duke shared with his wife. Xander was slouched inside, his right hand clasped round a mug of steaming fruit tea and his feet up on a stool. It was still early morning and he had only recently woken.

  ‘General!’ said Brennan with a salute.

  ‘Morning, captain. Can I interest you in a mug?’

  ‘Thank you, no.’

  ‘I’ll have one,’ interjected Gwendolyn.

  Xander chuckled. ‘You can get it yourself,’ he said with a flirtatious smile. Turning back to the Hawk, he stood and straightened. ‘Report, captain.’

  ‘Signal arrow sighted, sir. The Kirin returns.’

  Xander nodded and his eyes betrayed the same hope that Gwen was feeling. He thought for a moment, deciding how to react to news of Rham Jas’s return.

  She poured herself a mug of sweet-smelling tea and glanced behind to see whether Lennifer had followed her. The serving-girl had gone straight to the bedchamber and was busy arranging Gwen’s leather armour.

  Xander rose from his seat. ‘Assemble a guard of men, captain. Let’s go and meet Rham Jas Rami.’

  ‘Aye, general,’ replied Brennan, striding from the tent and leaving Gwen alone with her husband.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked, warming herself with the mug in her hands.

  ‘I think he’s still alive,’ replied Xander. ‘That’s a good start.’

  ‘But does it mean we can go home?’

  He crossed the tent and lunged in for a kiss, his face split into a tender smile. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘He’s killed her,’ she responded. ‘How else would he have left the city alive?’

  ‘He could have run away.’ Xander was not given to needless optimism.

  ‘Did he strike you as the kind of man who would run away?’ she countered.

  ‘No, but I’d still rather wait until we know either way.’

  She chuckled, stroking his face playfully. ‘Get your armour on.’

  He kissed her again, slower this time. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  * * *

  Captain Brennan had assembled fifty Hawks to accompany them and, mounted on armoured horses, they rode slowly southwards. Daganay, the Blue cleric, had risen only reluctantly but insisted on accompanying them to meet Rham Jas Rami. The rest of the army were striking their tents and preparing to march.

  Brennan had sent five men on ahead to check that no surprises awaited them and the patrol was now returning.

  ‘What have we here?’ mused Daganay, peering at the hastily approaching Hawks.

  Xander held up his hand and the men accompanying them slowed their pace, forming up behind the general. They were an hour or so from the city and their camp was no longer visi
ble behind them.

  ‘General!’ shouted one of the returning patrol. ‘The Kirin is being pursued by Karesians.’

  The company of Hawks drew their short swords in unison and retrieved their shields from their saddles. Xander rose in his stirrups to look further south. After a moment of searching across the plains, he smiled thinly and drew Peacekeeper from its scabbard. The bastard sword made a metallic sound as it was drawn and he held it effortlessly in one hand.

  Daganay let loose a throaty chuckle. ‘Are we killing Karesians, my lord?’ he asked, drumming his fingers on the hilt of his mace.

  ‘Unless they surrender,’ he replied.

  Brennan motioned for the returning patrol to rein in their horses. ‘How many warriors pursue the Kirin?’

  ‘Around twenty riders.’ The soldier was out of breath.

  Xander nudged his horse and advanced. Gwen followed, drawing one of her heavy leaf-blades, and the fifty Hawks fanned out behind them. Daganay stayed next to the general, wearing only his thick blue robe. He was skilled with his mace, but rarely wore armour.

  Gwen caught her husband’s eye and nodded, blowing a subtle kiss. It was a ritual they had been through many times – on every occasion they’d been in battle together. They had agreed that he would never hold her back or tell her what to do, and the trust between them meant she had saved his life as often as he had saved hers. Gwen knew he worried about her and would have asked her to stay behind if he could.

  The sound of hooves silenced him but Xander mouthed the words, ‘Stay alive,’ with an intense smile.

  They rode quickly now, covering ground at speed, until a single horse appeared before them. The rider was kicking the flanks of his mount vigorously and had a motionless body slung across his saddle. The Kirin held his bloodied katana in one hand and the reins in the other. His Ro companion was unconscious.

  ‘I could do with some help,’ he wailed as they appeared over an incline.

  Behind him, riding in a disorganized mass, were several wind claws and a significant force of Hounds. They numbered two dozen and were accompanied by several riderless horses, indicating that Rham Jas was a dangerous man to follow. They wielded scimitars and kukris, though the wind claws had large, wavy knives and black armour.