The Long War 03 - The Red Prince

by A. J. Smith

  Angry shouts came from the men of the Crescent. They swung their axes menacingly, throwing out guttural insults at the Free Company.

  ‘Get off your fucking horse and say that again, boy,’ snarled Theen.

  The riders didn’t react. Neither the leader nor his men responded to the threats. They sat, impassively scanning the clearing.

  ‘Are things about to get nasty?’ Hasim asked Micah.

  ‘Only if the men of the Crescent are even more stupid than we thought,’ replied the young axe-man. ‘This lot are from Ranen Gar, they don’t fuck around.’

  The lead rider nudged his horse forward and slowly dismounted. He ignored Theen and flexed his back, groaning contentedly. He was tall and lean, with boyish looks but dark, penetrating eyes. He discarded his helmet and strolled towards Theen, stopping barely a foot from the chieftain.

  ‘Do you know what the last thing I killed was?’ asked the Free Company man in a precise and clear voice.

  The men of the Crescent were silent now, waiting to see how Theen would react.

  ‘It was a troll,’ continued the leader. ‘I lured it into a cave and burned it alive. Have you ever heard a burning troll keen? It’s beautiful.’

  The silence was total. Theen tried to stare the man down but his eyes flickered nervously until he turned away.

  ‘Where is Dragneel Dark Crest?’ repeated the strange man.

  ‘You want something here, you talk to me,’ bellowed Federick Two Hearts from across the clearing. ‘The piss-stain you’re staring at is an idiot.’

  Tattooed night-raiders had silently appeared behind Two Hearts. They nocked arrows and stood ready. Their chieftain pulled himself upright, rolling on to his feet and coughing.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Free Company man, I’m utterly fucked.’ He grinned manically. ‘I didn’t expect anyone important actually to turn up.’

  ‘You!’ he shouted at Bronwyn, taking her completely by surprise. ‘You’re with me.’

  She looked around. First at Hasim, then at Micah. Neither offered any reassurance. In fact, they looked as surprised as she was. After a few moments, stuttering and wishing the earth would envelop her whole, she followed the Ranen chieftain.

  It was strange that she was more concerned about losing her footing on the snowy ground and falling over in front of a hundred men than about meeting the strange visitor.

  Federick slowed and slung a muscular arm round her shoulder. He was bare-chested and emitted a fearful stench of drugs, alcohol and sweat.

  ‘Don’t worry, love, I can barely stand up. If it becomes a fight, it’ll be over pretty quick.’ He guffawed at his own comment, spluttering and pinching her cheek.

  She slapped his arm away and shot a helpless look over her shoulder at Hasim. The Karesian spread his arms wide and frowned.

  The two of the them crossed the clearing. They circled round the huge tree trunk, receiving a light shower of fine snowflakes. The night-raiders followed and a hundred warriors watched.

  ‘Right, you,’ he said cheerfully to the stranger, ‘what d’you want with the bird man?’

  Twilight Company had barely shifted position since they had arrived in the clearing. Only their leader had spoken.

  ‘Introductions,’ stated the stranger, his face contorting into a wild grin.

  ‘What did he say?’ Federick muttered to Bronwyn in a deep whisper.

  ‘He wants to know who you are.’ She turned to the smiling man. ‘Sorry, my lord Ranen, this man is overly fond of narcotics. May I introduce myself?’

  He looked her up and down, but didn’t stop grinning. ‘You may.’

  ‘I am Lady Bronwyn of Canarn,’ she said, bowing her head. ‘I travelled from South Warden with Dragneel. He is wounded.’

  There was no response. The man just looked at her and his smile turned sinister.

  ‘And you are?’ she prompted.

  ‘Fynius Black Claw,’ he said after a further moment of silence. ‘Captain Fynius Black Claw. I come from Old Gar following a raven, seeking a priest of Brytag. What are you looking for, Lady Bronwyn?’

  In the deep recesses of her mind, she heard cawing.

  ‘You’re Dominic Black Claw’s brother?’ asked Two Hearts, taking a step backwards.

  Other men reacted to the name. Some lowered their weapons in fear, others snarled angrily. Theen was wild-eyed, ignorant of whom he had been insulting.

  Bronwyn had heard of Dominic Black Claw. He was the master of Ranen Gar and the captain of Greywood Company. She knew nothing of his brother.

  ‘I’m here seeking allies,’ she said. ‘Originally for South Warden, now for all of Ranen. The king of Tor Funweir is camped on the Plains of Scarlet.’

  ‘What of the men of Wraith and Scarlet?’ asked Fynius, ceasing to smile.

  She shook her head, looking across the clearing at Micah Stone Dog. ‘The young axe-man over there may be the last member of Wraith Company.’

  Fynius paced back and forth in front of them. He was agitated, muttering to himself. He argued into the air, gesticulating wildly.

  ‘Right!’ he exclaimed after a moment. ‘You, fat man.’ He pointed to Two Hearts. ‘See to my men. I have five hundred. They need food and the horses need water. You.’ He point to Bronwyn. ‘Take me to Dragneel.’

  * * *

  Twilight Company were as stealthy as they were numerous. Hundreds of riders, clad in dark blue, appeared from nowhere and took up residence in Federick’s camp. They responded to aggression with indifference, refusing to answer challenges. Once their numbers were apparent, the other Moon clans kept their distance, whispering about Fynius.

  Rumours of Dominic Black Claw’s brother were numerous. Most told of his madness. Bronwyn heard variously that he was touched with visions by Brytag, that he had been struck on the head by his brother, that he had spent ten years living with berserkers in the Low Kast. She asked him, but he just ignored her. Even Two Hearts, striding through his drugged oblivion, was wary of Fynius and his men.

  Bronwyn didn’t understand. The Ranen were a strange bunch at the best of times – violent, stubborn, short-sighted – but with the appearance of the men from Ranen Gar they were reduced to fearful barbarians. Their axes, their rage, their allegiance – all were dissipated when faced with a company of true fighting men.

  ‘He’s fucking mental, y’know?’ said Two Hearts, slumped on a cushion below the tree house.

  ‘He’s an ally,’ replied Bronwyn.

  Fynius had been with Dragneel for nearly an hour. They had talked quietly but had not conveyed anything to those who waited below.

  ‘They follow Brytag,’ offered Micah, resting his wounded leg on a tree stump. ‘That makes them unpredictable.’

  ‘He’s got a lot of men,’ said Hasim, swigging from a bottle of Ranen mead.

  The four of them sat near a fire. The sun had disappeared and the cold whipped through the forest and made everyone sluggish.

  ‘Five hundred won’t scratch the surface, I’m afraid,’ said Bronwyn, remembering the swarm of Red knights that had attacked Ro Hail.

  ‘Things changed after you left,’ said Hasim. ‘But, you’re right, five hundred is a lot for the Ranen... it’s barely an army for the Ro. If you want to stop the king marching north, you’ll need to equal his numbers, at the very least.’

  Two Hearts laughed. A deep rumble that was barely recognizable as humour. His drug and alcohol intake had not slowed since Twilight Company had arrived.

  ‘You’ve never met anyone from Old Gar, have you?’ asked the chieftain.

  ‘If you’d like to patronize the foreigners, be my guest,’ said Micah, leaning forward. ‘But I’m a man of Wraith.’ He glared at Two Hearts.

  The chieftain maintained eye contact for a second, assessing the young man.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you educate these foreigners about Old Gar.’

  ‘Why don’t you shut up,’ replied Micah, ‘your voice grates.’

  Two Hearts flo
pped forward on his cushion, blinking in order to focus clearly on Stone Dog.

  ‘Do you want a slap, son?’

  ‘From you? You can barely stand up,’ replied Micah, showing no fear of the chieftain. ‘Go and get half a dozen of your tattooed bastards, make it a fair fight.’

  Bronwyn chuckled and they both looked at her.

  ‘Micah, you’re full of arrows. Federick, you’re in another world. I could probably best either of you.’

  Both the Ranen warriors looked wounded at the comment. Two Hearts pouted like a scolded child and Stone Dog sat open-mouthed.

  ‘She’s right,’ offered Hasim, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together. ‘About more than you two.’

  ‘When did I stop getting respect from visitors in my own woods?’ asked Two Hearts. ‘First, this madman from Gar, now a Ro bitch and her pet Karesian.’

  Hasim, the only one of them standing up, casually strolled towards Two Hearts. ‘You don’t know me,’ he said quietly. ‘And you don’t know Bronwyn. We are trying to help you, but you’ve got to earn respect.’ He smiled. ‘Call her a bitch or me a pet again, and we’ll have a falling-out.’

  It wasn’t clear whether the Ranen chieftain heard the words. His eyes glazed over and with a vacuous smile he fell unconscious.

  ‘Shame,’ said Micah. ‘I’d have liked to see his reaction to that. He might have cut your balls off.’

  ‘He’s an idiot,’ replied Hasim.

  ‘An idiot with a clan of nutcases fully prepared to cut your balls off,’ said Stone Dog.

  Without Two Hearts, their conversation became more friendly. Micah and Hasim bonded over a mutual dislike of the Moon clans. They told stories of what had happened since they were last together. Hasim had been wounded at the breach of South Warden, and Micah had been wounded fighting the people of the Crescent. They shared scars, told of individual opponents and no doubt made up all sorts of finer details. She had been with Micah during his fight and she didn’t remember him besting ten men while defending Bronwyn and Dragneel. But she let it pass.

  The three of them had travelled far together. From Canarn and Ro Hail. They’d fought in battles and they were still alive. She took a moment to appreciate that, listening to them chat and laugh, as if imagining a more peaceful time.

  But still the raven cawed in the depths of her mind. It still wanted her to know something, to direct her in some way, but she couldn’t understand it.

  ‘It’s funny watching you try to understand him,’ said Fynius Black Claw, emerging from the tree house. ‘Not everything can use words and meanings in the way you expect. Conversations are a decidedly human occupation.’

  The captain of Twilight Company swung himself on to the ladder and slid to the ground. Hasim and Micah stopped chatting and both stood up.

  ‘Are you seeing my thoughts?’ asked Bronwyn. The possibility bothered her less than she might have expected.

  ‘Only when Brytag tries to speak to you,’ he replied, his sinister smile returning. ‘Things are stranger than either of us realized, Lady Bronwyn of Canarn.’

  ‘I don’t understand him.’

  ‘I know. So does he,’ replied Fynius. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll keep trying.’

  ‘Please stop smiling, it’s quite unnerving,’ she said, looking away.

  ‘Do I bother you?’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  Hasim raised his hand. ‘You bother me, too. If you care,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t.’ He turned his thin face towards the Karesian. ‘What are you doing here, man of the sun? You’re a long way from the lands of Jaa.’

  ‘Circumstances have conspired against me,’ replied Hasim.

  Fynius looked at each of them in turn. He frowned at the unconscious body of Two Hearts, but smiled at the others. His manner was twitchy and she could see a barely contained mania in his eyes.

  ‘How many Ro are on the Plains of Scarlet?’ he asked.

  ‘Friends or foes?’ said Hasim.

  ‘They are Ro, there is no difference,’ replied the Ranen.

  Hasim chuckled and drank some more mead. ‘Well, there are five thousand knights that want to subjugate your land, and there are six thousand yeomanry that don’t want to subjugate your land. So, I suppose there are eleven thousand Ro on the Plains of Scarlet.’

  Fynius stopped smiling. His face assumed a grimace and he narrowed his eyes at Hasim. ‘That’s a lot of men.’

  ‘Fallon of Leith commands the yeomanry and he is not your enemy,’ said the Karesian.

  ‘Who the fuck is Fally of Leith?’ asked Fynius.

  ‘Fallon. He’s a knight of Ro,’ answered Bronwyn. ‘Apparently he is an enemy of the king.’

  ‘Trust me, he’s an enemy of the king,’ offered Hasim. ‘The bad news, if eleven thousand isn’t bad enough, is that the Red general is on his way. That’s another ten thousand knights at least.’

  Fynius began to pace in front of them. His eyes darted from side to side and his arms wove strange patterns in the freezing air. His blue-stained leather coat dragged on the snowy ground and his broadsword swung as he walked.

  ‘Eleven thousand, ten thousand,’ he muttered. ‘Five thousand, six thousand, the king, the knight, the general.’

  He twitched, kicking his feet through the snow. He mumbled about Ro, Ranen, Twilight Company, Red knights. He acted as if he were speaking to someone, or something, throwing incomprehensible questions into the air.

  They all looked at him. Superimposed across his back, she thought she saw black wings. For an instant they flared and disappeared.

  ‘I think I will go to South Warden,’ he said. ‘Yes, that is my road.’

  The others exchanged looks. Micah frowned, Hasim raised his eyebrows, only Bronwyn spoke. ‘That is good to hear,’ she said, ‘but you are outnumbered.’

  ‘So?’ he replied, screwing his face up. ‘I have the men I have.’

  She smiled. The man from Ranen Gar was unstable but he was an ally. He was a Ranen and he was a follower of Brytag. Perhaps he was just what was needed.

  ‘Could you get your brother to bring Greywood Company?’ asked Micah. ‘Just in case they’re needed.’

  Fynius smiled again. The expression covered half his face. ‘Nah,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ll tell him what happened after it happens.’

  ‘So, your plan?’ she asked, hoping for a semblance of wisdom.

  ‘Well, South Warden makes nice cheese, doesn’t it?’ he replied.

  Hasim shrugged, shaking his head at Bronwyn.

  ‘Yes, I believe it does,’ offered Micah. ‘Well, it used to. Hungry, are we?’

  ‘Nope,’ replied Fynius. ‘Just thinking about things that the Red men wouldn’t know. If they don’t know about the cheese, it’s unlikely they’d know about the massive tunnels used to mature the cheese.’

  He’s clever, she thought. Mad, but clever.

  He ignored them and carried on talking to the air. Occasionally he’d laugh, chuckling at a joke only he could hear. He didn’t leave them, or show any awareness that they were listening.

  ‘Right!’ he said suddenly. ‘We have lots to do. You most of all, Lady Bronwyn of Canarn. Come with me.’ He left, heading back to the ladder and Dragneel’s deathbed.

  CHAPTER 3

  HALLA SUMMER WOLF AT THE BEAR’S MOUTH

  FJORLAN WAS A realm at war. The Freelands of Ranen were being torn apart by foreign invaders and an alien god. Halla was a warrior, a follower of Rowanoco, and she was becoming a fine leader, but she could not predict what would happen to her homeland.

  More than anything, she wanted to tell her men that they would win – that Alahan Teardrop would be a triumphant high thain, that Rulag Ursa would be killed, and that Fjorlan would remain free. In her quieter moments, with no one for company and the freezing air turning her thoughts dark, she wondered whether there was any point in fighting. Halla would never admit it, but she was afraid for Fjorlan. She was worried that spirit and honour were not sufficient and t
hat Rulag Ursa’s forces were too strong.

  Even if they did win and all their hopes of freedom were achieved, she would still be faced with a young thain whose father had killed her father. The family of Teardrop had done little to secure the loyalty of Summer Wolf, but they were the best option available to a warrior with blood on her hands and with no end to the slaughter in sight. That her battle-brothers obeyed her without question almost made the situation worse. Only Rorg the Defiler questioned her and even he did so politely.

  The Low Kast berserkers and their family of trolls had made no effort to integrate. They kept to themselves at the front of the company. When the day ended and they had found rocky ledges on which to sleep, Rorg kept his men active, sleeping only for an hour or two and scouting ahead. The troll’s constant keening had not bothered Halla. Once she had grown used to it, the sound was almost calming. Only Lullaby spent time with the Ice Men and the strange old woman deflected a hundred questions from Wulfrick about the beasts. Falling Cloud and Oleff had taken to teasing the huge axe-master about his fear of trolls and it was only Halla’s interference that had stopped her lieutenants coming to blows.

  ‘It’s not natural,’ said Wulfrick.

  They were nestled in a ravine less than a day’s march from the Bear’s Mouth. They had lit no fires and pitched no tents, hoping not to give away their position to the forces of Grammah Black Eyes.

  ‘What’s not natural?’ asked Halla.

  ‘Trolls eat men and men hunt trolls. They keep to the ice and we keep to the towns. It’s just the way it is.’

  Her company were picketed close together, with the men and beasts of the Low Kast a short distance away. The sun had disappeared and only stars illuminated the plateaus of Ursa. Anya Lullaby and Falling Cloud joined them, while Oleff and Heinrich saw to the nightly guard duty.

  ‘Things are not always so absolute, young man,’ offered Lullaby. ‘The Ice Men have ways of talking to Rowanoco that we could never understand.’

  ‘If they fight for Fjorlan, they stay,’ said Halla, growing tired of Wulfrick’s whingeing.