The Long War 03 - The Red Prince

by A. J. Smith

  ‘Please!’ said Lanry. ‘Can we not talk of death?’

  ‘I know what I’d want if Jakan had crippled me,’ replied Fallon.

  ‘I have failed to defend the Freelands,’ said Horrock, sobbing once again.

  Lanry tried to calm him, using his healing skills to deaden the pain and enable the man to breathe easier. The magic was subtle, causing only a slight distortion around his hands.

  Fallon moved closer, leaning over the Ranen captain.

  ‘Horrock. I can’t undo what has happened to your lands. I can’t bring back your people or rebuild your cities. But I will fight till I die to free your land of the One God’s armies.’

  The Ranen barely moved. His eyes were open, the deep green stained red.

  ‘Can he hear me, brother?’ asked Fallon.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Lanry. ‘His mind is... as broken as his body.’

  ‘I can hear!’ snapped Horrock. ‘I just can’t feel.’

  Silence. Lanry continued to care for the wounded Ranen while Fallon searched for words to say. The healing powers of the Brown church were not powerful enough to help someone as badly wounded as Horrock. He had been torn apart, mentally and physically, reduced to a broken warrior.

  All the exemplar felt was anger. No sympathy or guilt, just rage at the men who had mutilated Horrock, claiming to serve the One.

  ‘Just talk to him, dear boy. Not about death and war, just talk. Calm him, occupy his mind.’ Lanry narrowed his eyes and concentrated on his work, wrapping bandages and soaking fresh towels.

  ‘Okay,’ replied Fallon uncomfortably.

  How do you calm a dying man? He’d never had to do so. Battle chaplains had always done such things. The White healed the wounded and the Black sped the dying on their way.

  Something occurred to him. A question to which he didn’t know the answer.

  ‘Horrock! Horrock, look at me.’

  The chieftain’s face was taut and covered in veins.

  ‘The Free Companies, how do they get their names? Why are you Wraith Company?’

  Horrock pursed his lips and screwed up his face. He winced whenever Lanry touched him, as if every inch of his flesh was causing him pain.

  ‘Horrock Green Blade!’ snapped Fallon. ‘How did Wraith Company get its name?’

  The Ranen coughed and stared at the exemplar.

  ‘It means “ghost” in Old Gar. It’s a very old Ranen word,’ he replied in a raspy voice. ‘It’s why we never rebuilt Hail. We are ghosts protecting a land of dead men. Dead men killed by the One God.’

  Fallon nodded. ‘And Scarlet Company? Something to do with blood, I expect.’

  The chieftain tried to curl up into a ball but Lanry stopped him. The cleric was wiping dried blood from the stump of his leg and causing him much pain.

  ‘Horrock, listen,’ said the exemplar. ‘Scarlet Company, how did they get their name?’

  He tried to compose himself again, to pull forth a moment of clarity and shut out the pain. ‘A Volk... from the north. Called Orrin Scarlet Beard. He freed the first men of Scarlet Company from their Ro masters. Named in his honour.’

  ‘I’ve never met a Volk,’ replied Fallon, almost in tears at the sight of the dying man.

  Horrock lay back down. He stopped twitching and his eyes flickered from tiredness to serenity.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll feel any more pain... death rises to embrace him,’ said Lanry.

  ‘No more wars, Horrock,’ said Fallon. ‘No more fighting, no more death. Rise to meet your Ice Giant.’

  He had seen men die at the edge of a thousand swords, under hundreds of boulders and pierced by countless crossbow bolts. Seeing Horrock Green Blade die quietly in a tent was by far the most powerful moment.

  CHAPTER 2

  BRONWYN OF CANARN IN THE MOON WOODS

  SHE HADN’T EVEN said hello or asked how he was. As soon as Al-Hasim had appeared, led through the trees by Dawn Sun Runner, she’d run at him and planted a kiss on his lips. She didn’t care how he came to be in the Moon Woods, or how he was still alive. His face, stern, dusky, with constantly moving eyes, was like a glimpse of a former life. A life she had almost forgotten. The kiss lingered until her tears made him pull back and gently stroke her face.

  Federick had allowed them time together, guarded at a distance, while Hasim told her all that had happened since she had left South Warden. She’d wept, gritted her teeth, punched the earth and not let go of his hands.

  Scarlet and Wraith were both smashed. The women and children of South Warden were corralled like sheep and the strong were again slaves to the Ro. Their axes had been taken and they were reduced to beasts of burden.

  ‘There’s still hope, Bronwyn,’ said Hasim. ‘Fallon is a cunning bastard. And we still have work to do. We need these Crescent men to ride south.’

  ‘Not likely,’ she replied, wiping a tear from her eye and resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Two Hearts is stubborn. It was only Warm Heart that made him call for the other Moon clan chieftains.’

  ‘Warm Heart?’ he asked. ‘Bit of a strange name for a Ranen.’

  Bronwyn sniffed, with little elegance, and rubbed her nose. As she was about to speak, the war-hound appeared from a low bramble thicket. He’d been silent up to that point and caused Hasim to leap to his feet.

  ‘Jaa’s balls! You again,’ he exclaimed, stumbling backwards.

  Bronwyn petted the hound, scratching him behind the ears. ‘This is Warm Heart. I understand he’s a Volk war-hound of the white pack, whatever that means.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ replied the Karesian. ‘I think he saved my life, but he really shouldn’t sneak up on people. Seeing them is a lot scarier than reading about them.’

  ‘You’ve heard of them? How does a man of the sun know of such things?’

  ‘Algenon had a collection of books written by a Volk. The Nine Tomes of Higher Xar, something like that. I read a few when I was in Fredericksand. There wasn’t much else to do in the evenings, and a man can only drink so much mead.’

  ‘So?’ she prompted. ‘They’re not just big dogs, are they?’

  ‘Er, no. From what I remember they were called forth when the Volk were at war with their cousins... the Dvergar.’ He didn’t know how to pronounce the word properly. ‘They asked Rowanoco for help and he sent the hounds, allowing the Volk warriors to ride them into battle.’ Warm Heart whined, hunkering down to the ground. His front paws patted the ground in front of Hasim. ‘But we’re a long way from Volkast... tenacious little bastard must have run the whole way.’

  If it weren’t for the Volk war-hound, Bronwyn’s time among the Moon clans would have been much less comfortable. As it was, whenever a man or woman of the Crescent began a tirade against her people or thought to make an off-colour comment, Warm Heart was quick to growl at them. The huge dog was affectionate and had no idea of its own strength. It jumped at her, nudged her and found a hundred creative ways to slobber on her. The beast rarely strayed from her side and she had to concede that his presence had become comforting.

  ‘I hear you’ve met before,’ said Bronwyn, glad to have something to smile about.

  ‘Yeah, I saw him half-eat a Red knight. Glad he likes you.’

  ‘So, what do we do?’ she asked, reaching for his hand and pulling him back to sit next to her.

  ‘Since when did you ask my advice?’ He stroked her hair.

  ‘Since everything changed... whenever that was. It kind of sneaked up on me. One minute I knew something, then I didn’t.’

  Hasim raised his eyebrows.

  ‘So to speak,’ she said, realizing how tired and vague she must seem.

  He faced her, his lips parting slightly and his eyes narrowing.

  ‘You and I are still alive,’ he said. ‘So is Micah and that bird man, and the dog.’

  A weary smile. ‘Yes, we’re still alive,’ she agreed. ‘For now, at least.’

  They shared the silence. Their hands were locked together, giving her m
ore physical security than she’d felt for months. She hated the way he made he feel, and loved it at the same time, as she hated and loved her entire situation. But in that moment she needed him. That was it, that was all, and that was enough. Warm Heart snuffled and backed away, sensing their intimacy.

  ‘Still want my advice?’ Hasim asked gently, looking down at their intertwined fingers.

  She nodded, a tear appearing in her eye.

  ‘We could just stay here. It’s not so bad. The trees are nice, there are no Red knights attacking us. We could light a fire, get comfy, and see what happens. Stone Dog could be our personal servant.’

  She knew she couldn’t stay here. But, sitting there with Al-Hasim, she wished that she could. That her responsibilities belonged to someone else, that war had never come to Ranen and that she had never had to leave Ro Canarn.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said, kissing her slowly. ‘You’re screaming silently at the world. In Karesia, we call that “fighting the sand”.’

  ‘You can read me now?’

  ‘You’re only this affectionate when you’re miserable,’ he replied, backing away.

  Suddenly, Bronwyn felt bad. He was right, she was using him. Maybe they were using each other. But it only took a second for reality to return. They were still in the snowy forest and they were still in danger.

  ‘So, what do we do?’ she asked again.

  ‘That’s my girl.’ He chuckled. ‘We wait, I suppose. How long until the other chieftains arrive?’

  ‘They don’t tell me anything,’ she replied. ‘It had better be soon. To look at Two Hearts, you’d think we have all the time in the world. He hasn’t stopped smoking since I arrived.’

  ‘Ground rowan oak mushrooms,’ said Hasim. ‘Better than Karesian rainbow smoke, and they’re free.’

  ‘It doesn’t stop time,’ she replied, glaring at him.

  ‘Well, what time we have depends on Fallon of Leith. If these wood-wielders don’t march south, he’s going to die and the knights are going to burn down the Moon Woods. Simple, really.’

  ‘What a lovely appraisal of the situation.’

  ‘Funny, really. You and I are going to have to persuade more Ranen that the knights are a threat. Feels like we’ve been doing that since Ro Hail. A Karesian and a Ro... who would have predicted that?’

  ‘Do you think these ones will listen?’ she asked wearily.

  Warm Heart growled from the trees. The hound had returned silently and Bronwyn jumped at its reappearance. The growl was deep and rumbling, and the hound nuzzled between the two of them.

  ‘What do you want, dog?’ asked Al-Hasim, hesitantly stroking it.

  Warm Heart licked Hasim’s face and the Karesian was too intimidated to resist. He groaned and screwed up his face. Bronwyn laughed and pulled the hound away.

  ‘He wants us to go with him,’ she said.

  He wiped his face, scrubbing his slobbery cheeks with the hem of his cloak.

  ‘How the fuck do you know that?’

  ‘Language, man of the sun,’ she replied, smiling.

  * * *

  The grove of the rowan oak tree was a huge, open clearing. A snowy amphitheatre, set in a weather-beaten river bed, with a ring of lesser oak trees surrounding it. The tree itself was a spectacle of white, a dense canopy of branches, dripping with ice and snow. Around the base, wooden scaffolding ringed the huge trunk, allowing the Ranen to collect the sap and any wood it offered them. The mushrooms, blue and growing in clusters, sprouted from the branches in their hundreds. The tree was the centre of their culture and gave them almost everything of value they had.

  It had been an interesting day up to this point. Their intimacy had been fleeting and was now a world away as the chieftains, bearded, tattooed, armed to the teeth and angry, assembled in front of their battle-brothers. Five clans had answered the summons issued by Federick Two Hearts, but until he silenced them they had appeared more interested in fighting each other.

  More sombre were the wise women, and the men of the Earth Shaker, led by Barron Crow Friend. They stood in reverence, evoking the spirits of earth and rock to bless the gathering. Lastly, they called on the Earth Shaker himself. They asked Rowanoco to protect their woods, to protect their families and their way of life. Their chanted words were humble, bringing a tear of devotion to the eyes of several Ranen.

  Once the prayers were finished, Federick Two Hearts and his drug-fuelled cohorts returned to their loafing about, and the visiting Moon clans reverted to aggressive posturing. It became clear that Magnar Rock Skin had killed Theen Burnt Face’s son a few years ago. The father demanded satisfaction, eliciting a dozen screamed challenges from other warriors.

  ‘I told you it was pointless,’ Two Hearts had repeated several times since the first chieftains arrived. ‘They shut up for the Earth Shaker, but nothing else.’

  He grinned at her as the clans commenced duels and screamed declarations of eternal hatred at the sky. It took hours for old rivalries to be settled and new ones to be formed. Several times Warm Heart had defended her and her friends from angry warriors, displeased with the presence of foreigners under the Moon, until, finally, they stood in silence round the rowan oak tree.

  She stood at the edge of the clearing. To her left was Micah Stone Dog, leaning heavily on a crutch, stubbornly clutching his locaber axe. Hasim was to her right, his hood partially covering his face. Dragneel was back at the camp. The priest of Brytag was still unconscious and Aesyr Two Hearts had declared that he’d be dead within a day. Both Bronwyn and Micah had been sad at this news, but had quickly accepted that there were more pressing matters at hand.

  ‘I call upon the faithful of Rowanoco,’ bellowed Barron Crow Friend from the base of the huge tree. ‘We have fought and come to a peace. Grievances have been settled and now we keep our axes sheathed in this hallowed place.’

  A hundred Ranen warriors bowed their heads. Only the chieftains, their lieutenants, sons, axe-maidens and priests were permitted in the grove. Roughly twenty were present from each of the five clans.

  ‘What the fuck are we doin’ ’ere?’ shouted Theen Burnt Face. ‘I don’t wanna look at Two Hearts’ ugly fucking face any longer than I have to.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, maggot cock,’ replied Dawn Sun Runner.

  The insults flew like poorly aimed arrows. Bronwyn listened, weathering sardonic quips from Stone Dog and Hasim, as the men and women of the Crescent shouted until they started to repeat themselves.

  ‘They’re stupid. This does not bode well,’ said Stone Dog.

  ‘They’re stupid and they’ve got axes. Just point them in the right direction,’ replied Hasim.

  ‘Hmm, tricky,’ said Micah. ‘I’m not good with stupid people.’

  ‘You could fight them.’

  ‘I might.’

  The exchange was dry and delivered with little humour. Bronwyn barely registered their words, trying to focus on the chieftains. She was growing tired of listening to their tedious threats. They jumped around on the spot, waving their axes in impotent rage. Their complaints were petty and mostly generations old, being pulled out like an ailing relative to challenge their enemies. Even Barron rolled his eyes. He shrugged at Federick, as if to say I’m trying.

  ‘Where’s the hound?’ asked Hasim.

  She looked around the clearing. ‘I haven’t seen him since he led us here.’

  ‘How can such a big dog be so stealthy?’

  A fresh round of threats from the Ranen muffled his words. They’d moved on to accusations of treachery, flinging half-remembered tales at each other as if they were absolute truth.

  Two Hearts was now engaged in a small party off to the side. He and his followers were ignoring the other clans and throwing mushroom smoke and alcohol down their necks. Whatever seniority he had, he was choosing not to use it. His deep voice was easy to identify, but it emerged as laughter, rippling across the clearing. It was a bizarre accompaniment to the arguing. It would have been funn
y, were Bronwyn not so tightly wound up.

  A sound of horses suddenly rang around the clearing. From the north, shaking snow from the high branches, multiple riders approached. Warning arrows, buzzing loudly through the air, were fired by men of the Crescent. The chieftains were startled out of threatening one another and turned to face the oncoming horses.

  She was amazed that riders could get so close to the rowan oak without being attacked by men of the Crescent. The sound of hooves had appeared out of nowhere, rising suddenly in volume from a murmur to a roar.

  Hasim drew his scimitar smoothly. ‘Wrong direction for the knights.’

  Micah tried to heft his axe, but his strength would not allow him to hold the weapon above his waist. Bronwyn looked around, unsure how to react. The warriors guarding the clearing had fired the warning arrows and they now flooded in to protect their leaders.

  Men on horseback appeared. They pulled up on the edge of the clearing and fanned out. They were men of Ranen, dressed in chain mail with dark blue leather coats. They each had thick-bladed swords and steel helmets. Their standard was carried by the leader and bore the insignia of a raven, flying over a half-moon.

  ‘I’ve never seen Ranen dressed like that,’ said Hasim. ‘They’ve actually got uniforms.’

  ‘That’s a Free Company from the north. Don’t know which one,’ offered Micah, discarding his walking stick.

  ‘Explain yourselves!’ bellowed Theen Burnt Face.

  The standard-bearer trotted forward from his men. He held up a hand and more riders appeared through the trees. Fifty men or more, arrayed in an orderly line, formed a semicircle at the edge of the clearing.

  Theen shook his axe angrily. ‘Answer me, shit-head!’

  The leader passed the banner to another man and removed his helmet. He was young, with a thin face and closely cut black hair. Bronwyn looked again and thought that he might be older after all. He had a wildness in his eyes and his glare was not that of a young man. He smiled at Theen, a broad, toothy expression that split his face.

  ‘We are Twilight Company. Tell me where Dragneel Dark Crest is or I’ll tear out your liver.’