by A. J. Smith
He had been right about so much. Perhaps she was the only person capable of diplomacy in this situation. Certainly Federick Two Hearts and Theen Burnt Face were not suitable for the role. One was permanently insensible, the other made a snowflake seem intelligent.
At least they had a good vantage point, on rising ground beyond the tree line, well hidden from the soldiers of Ro. No one was looking north, the Red knights being far too arrogant to consider the Ranen a danger. Even the soldiers from Darkwald, assembled in front of their stockade and under the cover of trebuchets, were looking only to the east.
‘Ten thousand men all told,’ said Micah, finally able to walk unaided. ‘Who’s that at the front of the knights?’
‘The tall one is Fallon of Leith,’ she replied. ‘I assume the Red cardinal is up there too.’
‘Bloody bird man was right, this has not played out like I thought,’ he said with a smile. ‘There’re still a shit-load of clerics and knights in South Warden, though.’
‘It’s not over yet. And you don’t have any diplomatic duties.’
‘I assumed I was coming with you,’ replied Micah. ‘I’ll no doubt have to weather insults about my parentage or some such.’
‘Is the Stone Dog family not well regarded?’
‘Piss off... my lady,’ he replied with a chuckle.
It was simple humour, but it was good to share a laugh.
‘What are they waiting for?’ asked Micah. ‘They outnumber them by two to one, at least.’
‘Red knights don’t kill other Red knights,’ she replied.
‘And Purple clerics?’
She shrugged. ‘Not sure. The relationship has always been a little... foggy.’
Shouts rose from the front rank of knights, ordering those behind to stand to attention. Their banners were held high and their shields locked in place. At the front, closest to the gates of South Warden, two riders broke away from the massed army. One wore a high-plumed helmet, glinting white in the snowy morning. The other, tall and black-haired, held himself ramrod straight.
‘I saw him at Ro Hail,’ said Micah. ‘The tall one. That’s Fallon, right?’
She nodded. ‘Our ally, according to Hasim. I’ve not met the other one. The Red cardinal, I’d assume.’
She was amazed at how quiet ten thousand men could be. The army was motionless, stern-faced and looking to the front. Their armour rustled in the breeze and their horses whinnied, but the men were silent. From South Warden, keeping tight formation on the forward battlements, Purple clerics surveyed the knights before them.
‘Brothers!’ shouted the knight general towards the city. ‘I do not address the nobles of the One. I do not address the Purple cardinal. I address the knights of the Red. I address my brothers.’
She couldn’t see any knights in South Warden. There were five thousand of them, kept out of the way by Cardinal Mobius, prevented from seeing the massed army at their gate. How long they would remain loyal to the Purple once their general started to speak was open to debate.
‘Brother knights, I am Knight General Malaki Frith. I come from Ro Arnon, answering the king’s summons. The king who was murdered by Cardinal Mobius. I name him regicide and traitor to Tor Funweir.’
His voice was now a bellow, hoarse and emotional in the cold air of Scarlet.
‘You must follow orders from the senior churchman. That churchman is now me. I will not order you to kill the clerics, I merely order you to stand down. Leave South Warden and muster on the fields of Scarlet. Enough men have died here.’
She frowned. Fynius was right again.
‘Far be it from me to be optimistic,’ said Micah, ‘but this is looking good... well, for now.’ He appeared embarrassed about his own assessment.
‘Relax. I’m sure there is still plenty of time for things to go horribly wrong.’
She enjoyed the look on his face, but not as much as she enjoyed the stark fear she saw among the Purple clerics. They stood behind the wooden battlements, trying to keep their heads back and their chins forward. Some stepped back, fighting their fear and only kept at their posts by angry glares.
‘No man will be held responsible for his actions here,’ shouted Frith. ‘If he stands down.’
A moment of silence. Sir Fallon of Leith rode forward. He exchanged words with the general and then his voice was directed at the city.
‘Brothers! It’s time to go home. Mobius can rant and rave, but let him do it alone.’
These men had been in the Freelands of Ranen for a long time. Bronwyn had seen the army move from Canarn, across the Grass Sea to Hail, and then over the Plains of Scarlet to South Warden. She wanted to hate them for all the deaths they had caused, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Were they really to blame? Following orders to a fault made them servile, but it didn’t make them evil.
‘Perhaps the death ends here,’ she muttered.
‘Or perhaps the bird man will get something wrong,’ replied Micah.
She raised her eyebrow at him.
‘Okay,’ he conceded, ‘it’s unlikely.’
Shouting from the city. Clerics turned from the battlements and waved their hands at those within. The clank of metal echoed through the snowy fields as Red knights made their way through the narrow streets of South Warden.
Frith’s army was still silent, allowing their brothers in the city to act as they saw fit. They didn’t gossip or whisper, nor did they smile or show agreement with their commander’s words.
‘Are you ready?’ asked Micah. ‘It’s almost time.’
A sudden wave of fear hit her. ‘What if they just attack us?’
He smirked. ‘Well, I suppose in that case, we’ll probably die.’
She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Thank you, Micah, helpful as always.’
‘What, you think we should fight them? Two against ten thousand? Yeah, I’ll give that a go.’
‘Shut up!’ she snapped. ‘Go and make sure Federick has the white flag ready.’
He backed away from the tree line and made his way towards the men of the crescent skulking nearby. Two Hearts and Theen Burnt Face were just sufficiently afraid of the Red army to keep their boisterous arguing in check. Their warriors still drank their liquor and smoked their drugs, waiting for Fynius Black Claw’s plan to advance. They were more trusting of the man of Gar than Bronwyn or Micah, but they were still afraid.
Fynius had suggested to her – well, demanded of her – that she not listen to the Moon clans and that she approach the Red knights of Ro on her own. Stone Dog would not be told what to do and would accompany her. His presence would prove scant comfort when ten thousand warriors turned to look at her, and his sardonic comments might hinder rather than help the negotiations. Somewhere in the trees behind her, Warm Heart also waited. She could hear the growls of the hound’s breathing.
The gates of South Warden opened and she experienced another wave of apprehension. The entranceway was obscured but she could hear the shouts of Purple clerics and the clank of Red knights. After a moment a column of men marched forth through the crisp snow. The green Plains of Scarlet were steadily turning white and the veil of snow was heavier as the Red army left South Warden.
A single voice rose above the others. The screech of Cardinal Mobius, echoing around the wooden city, chasing the Red knights out of the gate, was pitiable. She could not see him, but he sounded desperate, on the edge of mania. He was ignored.
Frith didn’t laugh or crow. Even from a distance, Bronwyn saw only an impassive face taking no pleasure in his victory. The tall swordsman next to him appeared less stoical, and Fallon of Leith greeted his brother knights as they filed out of South Warden. The column was narrow and it took time for them to squeeze through the gates, walking slowly of necessity, as the Purple cardinal’s voice cracked and trailed away.
The knights were dirty, bearded and battle-worn. Their armour was dented and tarnished, in sharp contrast to the shiny mass of General Frith’s army. They snaked through the w
aiting ranks of warriors, their backs bent and their eyes down, until the last dribble of men, most of them wounded, were helped from the city.
‘How long have they been away from home?’ asked Micah, reappearing silently and making her jump. ‘They’re a mess.’
She shoved him, grunting in her surprise.
‘Almost a year... and don’t sneak up on me, I’m twitchy enough.’
‘What, you didn’t smell me? I must stink to your noble nostrils.’
She ignored him. Looking back at the city, the gates were now being closed and the huge southern camp was receiving the Red knights who had withdrawn.
‘Bronwyn, it’s time.’
Overhead, a large raven flew from the trees. It glided from a high branch and soared over the army, cawing loudly. Over her shoulder, Warm Heart appeared, nuzzling her forwards.
She looked along the tree line. Federick Two Hearts and his night-raiders were camouflaged in a bramble thicket, nervously quaffing ale and gesturing at the fields of Scarlet. They had fashioned a large white square from an awning and attached it to a long branch.
With the deep note of a horn, the flag was extended and waved from side to side, catching the snow as it moved.
Tension grew to anguish as thousands of armoured men drew their swords and turned towards the Moon Woods. She nearly fell over under the weight of their hard stares. Even Micah gulped with fear as Malaki Frith’s army spied the Ranen warriors. Their movements were quick and controlled, acting as a single unit to defend themselves against an unseen foe.
‘Fuck me!’ exclaimed Stone Dog. ‘For the first time I actually understand how the Ro managed to conquer half the world.’
She composed herself and stood up. With small steps, she walked forward from the obscuring tree line. Micah and Warm Heart followed her and, further along, at the edge of the Moon Woods, Federick and his night-raiders emerged with Theen’s warriors close behind.
Dawn Sun Runner held the white flag high. Even under the influence of their drugs, the warriors of the Crescent were hesitant.
‘Identify yourself!’ bellowed a knight of Ro.
The Ranen all turned to Bronwyn.
She breathed in deeply and a shiver lanced down her spine. The cold air made her throat dry. ‘I am Lady Bronwyn of Canarn. We seek parlay.’ She tried to shout but her voice came out as a cracked wheeze.
Ranks of crossbowmen moved skilfully through the Red army, taking up position. Hundreds of bolts pointed at the tree line.
‘Bronwyn,’ muttered Micah, ‘they’re pointing crossbows at us... shout louder!’
‘I am Lady Bronwyn of Canarn,’ she shouted, finding her voice. ‘We seek parlay.’ Warm Heart barked, drawing the aim of a hundred crossbowmen.
Men on horseback approached, churning up the snow in a steady canter. Officers by the look of them, they wore mottled red tabards over breastplates and flowing cloaks of the same blood-red.
‘Step forward,’ commanded the lead rider.
She gulped again. Making sure Micah and Warm Heart were with her, she did as she was told. ‘I wish to speak to the knight general,’ she said. ‘I represent the Moon clans of Ranen.’
‘Who the fuck are the Moon clans of Ranen?’ responded the rider, wheeling his horse behind the crossbowmen.
Federick Two Hearts looked hurt. The large, drug-addled chieftain held his arms wide and gestured to the men and women skulking behind him. ‘What do we look like? Fucking sheep-herders?’ spat Federick. ‘You cheeky Ro bastard.’
The Red knights looked at each other, their professionalism cracking ever so slightly. They remained silent, directing their attention from Bronwyn to Federick, then to the huge Volk hound.
‘And the dog?’
‘Hey, I ain’t done with you, red man,’ interrupted Two Hearts.
‘I said, I speak for the Moon clans,’ she repeated, emptying her lungs to be heard. ‘And this is why. Be silent, Federick. You, sir knight, I am a noble of Ro and I demand to be taken to the Red general.’
The men on horseback conversed quietly. They directed men to form up and allow a narrow channel to appear, leading from the Moon Woods, plunging deep into the Red army.
‘Lady Bronwyn, you say? Of Canarn? Long way from home... with a dishonourable name.’
She clenched her fists but diplomacy forced her to remain silent.
‘You and one other,’ said the knight. ‘These Moon clans can remain in their woods for now.’
‘Very well. Lead on,’ she replied. ‘But the hound comes too. He’s no threat to you.’ Warm Heart looked at her and she hoped she was right.
‘As you say, Lady Bronwyn. Dogs get shot as easily as men.’
They left the safety of the trees and walked across the deepening snow. They were isolated and alone, moving across open ground from one group of warriors to another. Micah leant on his axe, gripping the shaft for comfort. Bronwyn was unarmed and aware of her appearance. Greasy hair, dirty hands, grubby fingernails. Her feet were calloused and sore, her face scratched and pale. But she was a diplomat of sorts, in a land where appearances meant nothing. Only Warm Heart gave her comfort, loping along next to her, his huge muzzle held upright.
They were led into the mass of soldiers, down an aisle between interlocked shields and hard faces. The riders trotted along on either side of them, providing escort. Within moments the aisle had closed behind them and she felt herself lost in a maze of steel and leather figures, stretching away from her in every direction. South Warden was a sliver of wood in the distance, the camp of the yeomanry was completely obscured, and the northern tree line was just a texture, barely visible through the snow.
They walked across uneven ground towards the front of the army. The city grew larger and larger, looming over the snow-capped knights, as they neared the gates of South Warden. The Red warriors broke their silence only to whisper about the huge dog.
‘Lady Bronwyn! I did not expect to see you here,’ said Fallon of Leith, dismounting. ‘Who are your friends?’
‘This is Micah Stone Dog of Wraith. This is Warm Heart, he’s a Volk war-hound. Who’s your friend?’
Fallon paused, looking at the hound, but he was not a man to be scared by a big dog. ‘May I present Knight General Malaki Frith. My general, this is the young lady who escaped Canarn, Hail and, it seems, South Warden.’
‘A pleasure, my lady,’ said Frith with a bow. ‘Lord Bromvy’s sister, what are you doing here?’
‘I am functioning as a go-between currently, speaking on behalf of the Moon clans and the remaining Free Company men. In fact, probably best to think of me as a diplomat.’
Fallon was tall and his back was straight. He wore no uniform or indication of rank. Again, Fynius was right, the swordsman was no longer a knight of the Red. Malaki Frith was shorter and wore a burnished breastplate across an ample chest.
‘Well,’ began the general, ‘as long as your friends in the trees...’ he turned to another officer. ‘How many are there?’
‘A few hundred. At most,’ replied the knight.
The general nodded. ‘Well, as long as your friends in the trees behave themselves, I see no reason not to parlay. Our mandate in the Freelands is open to change at this moment.’
‘I’m sure Vladimir would relish another parlay,’ said Fallon. ‘He thinks he’s getting good at them.’ The tall swordsman noted the look of confusion on Bronwyn’s face. ‘That’s Vladimir Corkoson, commander of the Darkwald yeomanry. Don’t worry, he just wants to go home.’
‘At least he’s still got a home,’ replied Micah, glaring at Fallon. ‘I remember you from Ro Hail. You killed a priest of the Order of the Hammer. Our healer.’
‘Now is not the time,’ interjected Bronwyn, aware that Stone Dog’s temper often overrode his reason.
‘It’s okay,’ said Fallon. ‘What was his name, your priest?’
‘Dorron Moon Eye,’ replied Micah. ‘Miserable old bastard. You split his head open.’
‘I’m sorry.’
/> It was a simple apology, said with a genuine smile, and it surprised them both. Red knights didn’t apologize. They didn’t show guilt or contrition, they merely implemented the will of the One with swift, often brutal, efficiency. They were barely human. ‘You really have left the Red, haven’t you?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t believe it.’
‘Let’s not be hasty,’ said Malaki Frith. ‘The situation here is still uncertain. Sir Fallon has, as far as is clear, acted with honour. And one does not leave the Red, dear lady.’
The tall swordsman’s face was open and light-hearted. He shook his head in amusement but didn’t correct either Bronwyn or the Red general. Whatever had happened to him had had a profound effect on his demeanour.
‘What do the Ranen want?’ asked Frith.
Micah snorted. The answer would be obvious to anyone other than a Red knight.
‘What do you think they want?’ she responded. ‘What would you want? If the situation was reversed. If that was Ro Tiris instead of South Warden?’ She wiped snow from her hair. ‘Can we continue this under cover?
‘Of course, Lady Bronwyn, where are my manners?’ said Frith with a forced smile. ‘But your... dog is not welcome in my command tent.’
Warm Heart whined, wagging his tale at the Red general.
* * *
She had never known so many men bow to her. Every knight and bound man showed his respect. Breastplates were struck, helmets removed. No one questioned them as they were escorted through the vast military camp.
At the centre, covered with a thick layer of pristine white snow, sat Malaki Frith’s command pavilion. The Red banner swayed from side to side, snapping against the flagpole, but it was the only heraldry on display. There was no Purple sceptre. That was a good sign.
‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ asked Stone Dog, not addressing anyone in particular.
‘You insisted on coming with me,’ she replied.
‘I did? Didn’t you try to talk me out of it?’ He smiled politely at a grizzled Red knight moving a stack of swords from one tent to another.
‘Are you scared, young Micah?’
‘Piss off... my lady. I’m just having a lot of new experiences recently.’ He grinned. ‘Still alive. though.’
