The Fell Sword (86 page)

The Red Knight was sitting up on a dozen heavy pillows, his chest tightly bandaged. Messengers came and went, checked by a series of sentries who were company veterans with orders that only well-known company men could pass. It wasn’t fair to the Moreans who were loyal, but it functioned.

‘How bad?’ the Duke asked a shaken Long Paw.

‘Christ on the cross, my lord, it was like—’ He shook his head. ‘Like the heart of a forge fire, for a moment.’

Young Morgan Mortirmir, standing at the Red Knight’s shoulder, gave a slight bow. ‘My lord, if you are feeling stable then I’d like to have a look. Any of my fellow scholars could support you in a crisis.’

The Duke frowned. ‘What’s the Academy doing?’

‘Nothing, my lord.’ Morgan looked down, as if embarrassed. Perhaps he was. ‘They have taken no action.’

The Duke turned his head back to Long Paw. ‘What else?’

‘We followed the tracks – physical, and hermetical – to the tavern. Wilful got there with some troops, I wasn’t keen to take the bastard by myself.’

The Duke reached out and touched Long Paw. ‘You did right. Force, especially overwhelming force, saves lives.’

Long Paw looked miserable. ‘Tell that to Gelfred – he lost both his dogs and he’s like to lose his left arm, too. Or to Kanny – he’s dead. Three dead and three more badly burned.’ The older man shook his head. ‘I’m not cut out for this. I’ll cut a throat, but I don’t like giving orders. Making the call.’

Ser Jehan held out a cup of wine. ‘You did well to come away with anyone alive. But my lord, have you thought this through – militarily? If they have these explosives what else can they do? Can they knock down buildings?’

The Duke gave his mentor a mirthless smile. ‘Jehan, a master hermeticist can knock down a city wall in one stroke. They just don’t, mostly. It takes time and effort to do, and most of them are playing other games.’ He shook his head. ‘But this one isn’t.’

Jehan drank some wine. ‘My lord, I’m always the naysayer – I realise it robs me of – of—’ He smiled. ‘Of something. But listen – we’re on a battlefield of the enemy’s choosing, and he’s got a new set of weapons and tactics. This is like Etrusca – assassins. Magic. Can we go back to killing monsters?’

‘We can’t just retreat and regroup,’ the Duke said. He grunted as pain hit him afresh. ‘Morgan, go see the ruins of the taverna. See what there is to be seen. I’d like to know how it was done so that when I panic, I panic for a reason.’ He put his head back slowly. ‘Gentlemen, we’re building something here. If we beat Andronicus, we’ll have plenty of time. We’ll have an income base and a series of fortified towns and castles. And allies.’

‘Allies?’ Jehan spat.

Alcaeus had been sitting on a stool, but now he sat up. ‘Yes, ser knight. Allies. Many Moreans are in favour of what you have been doing. Peace – a strong peace, and a fair one, means that our merchants can compete with the Etruscans and Galles, and even the Albans and the Occitans.’

Ser Jehan shrugged. ‘While the princess pays Etruscan master assassins to kill us?’

Alcaeus met him, shrug for shrug. ‘My mother is doing her best to curb the princess,’ he said. ‘We don’t think she knew anything about the assassin.’

The Duke shook his head. ‘It makes no sense. I’m no fool, and I can’t even see exactly who we’re fighting. Why? Why is the princess sending messages to Andronicus? Why did the court mage betray the Emperor? Why is the Academy standing by and letting people die from a use of the hermetical that – at least in Alba – would get you burned at the stake?’

Alcaeus stroked his beard. ‘My lord I grew up here, and I don’t understand all the factions. Sometimes every man and every woman is their own faction. As for the Patriarch – who knows what he really thinks – eh? About you as an Alban? About your confessor here?’ Alcaeus shook his head. ‘I mean no offence, Father, but the Patriarch believes that priests should not fight. Many of our monks and priests are against that, and there has been trouble over it for years – and then an Alban comes with a member of the fighting orders as his confessor—’

‘He’s not my confessor,’ the Duke said. ‘I like to keep it all between me and God.’

Father Arnaud was sitting behind the canopy, almost invisible. Now he rose. ‘Would it kill you to talk about it? And have you considered that your private quarrel with God may in the end hurt your company? Perhaps it is our business.’

‘Perhaps,’ the Duke said. ‘But you know what? I’m really quite fond of you all – even Wilful Murder. And I’m quite sure that when my little problem with God finally comes to light, you’ll all—’

There was a stir, and some shouting out beyond the cloth and the torchlight.

The Duke sat up. ‘Michael – see to that,’ he said. The Duke had a roundel dagger in his fist.

Michael was in full harness. He and Jehan went out together, and Toby, also in harness, drew his sword. So did Father Arnaud. Long Paw eased his in its scabbard.

Ser Michael reappeared. ‘My lord. It is—’ His face was white in the torchlight and his mouth looked stretched tight. ‘It’s a man who claims to be the head of Andronicus’s spy service. He begs an audience with you immediately.’

The Duke’s right hand moved, and a glowing green shield came up, a bubble that passed with some attenuation through the cloth of the hangings.

‘Michael – strip him absolutely naked. Give him my robe to wear, but take every jewel, every ring – everything. Long Paw—’

The swordsman nodded. ‘I’ll do it. I’ve searched a few bastards in my time.’

‘If he does anything that seems remotely like an attack, kill him. And until he’s stripped, don’t bring him within a hundred yards of this tent.’ The Duke put his dagger away.

Jehan stood with his sword drawn. ‘What if – he himself—’

The Duke’s eyes were glowing. ‘I can deal with that,’ he said.

‘Jules Kronmir, my lord,’ Ser Michael reported.

Kronmir was brought in. He was surrounded by naked swords, and yet he had a certain dignity. He bowed, very slowly – almost like a pantomime of a bow.

Morgan Mortirmir’s eyes widened. ‘I know you!’ he said.

Kronmir nodded his head, again, very slowly.

‘The amulet!’ Mortirmir said. ‘My lord, I know what exploded. Damn me to hell, I held it in my hand.’

‘Not that one, but another,’ Kronmir said. ‘But yes. You warned me, and I didn’t heed you.’

Father Arnaud’s sword wavered and then moved to cover Mortirmir’s back.

‘You two know each other?’ Jehan asked.

Mortirmir, apparently too young to understand where this was going, nodded. ‘Yes – we met at the ancient temple of Minerva on the hillside, and then later, in an inn. He showed me an amulet.’

He’s telling the truth
, Harmodius said.
Christ on the cross, I didn’t look into his memories. But there he is.

Kronmir looked back and forth. ‘You needn’t guess,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you. But only if you will protect me.’

‘You are here to change sides?’ the Duke asked.

‘This would be an odd method of committing suicide otherwise, so yes,’ Kronmir said.

‘You’ll tell us everything – names, places, dates.’ The Duke leaned forward.

‘Anything about Duke Andronicus and his plot – yes.’ Kronmir bowed his head. ‘He has betrayed me. But I will say nothing about any former employers.’

‘He’s not exactly in a position to bargain,’ Long Paw said.

‘But you see, my lord, I am,’ Kronmir said. ‘After all, I know where the Emperor is.’

The Duke allowed himself to sink back into his pillows. He caught Father Arnaud’s eye. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘sometimes I have to wonder whether God is really against me.’ He turned his head back to Kronmir. ‘Put your hands between mine and swear.’

Kronmir knelt. He swore a simple oath, like any man-at-arms joining the company.

‘You’ll take the word of an assassin?’ Long Paw spat.

‘Sworn to a mercenary. Are we all not honourable men?’ The Duke laughed weakly. ‘I need to sleep. Protect Master Kronmir, who I expect will be our most valuable asset. Hide him – most especially from the palace. Long Paw, he’s yours. If Gelfred’s wounded, who has the scouts?’

‘I’d like to try Favour,’ Jehan said. ‘But he has an arrow in his gut. It’s healed, but he’ll be as long as – well, as long as you in recovering.’

‘Has to be Starling,’ Ser Michael said. ‘Man’s a prick, but he’s a competent prick.’

‘Make it so,’ the Duke said. ‘Oh, my God.’ He lay back. ‘The Emperor. Kronmir – don’t get killed.’

Kronmir smiled. ‘I don’t intend to,’ he said.

The Duke’s eyes closed, and then sprang open. ‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I have a plan.’

Jehan groaned. ‘Here it comes,’ he said.

Part Three

Spring

Chapter Seventeen

Ticondaga and Albinkirk – Ser John Crayford and Amicia

I
n the end, Amicia won the old knight over to the notion of passing the Adnacrags again in winter. It took him a month to heal – a month of enduring the ruthless enquiries of a woman untramelled by the least restraint as to manners or morals. Amicia had never known anything like the Lady of the North, and she hoped that she never would again.

On the day when Ser John announced that they would take their merchants and march, Ghause smiled at Amicia across her solar. ‘Do you miss him so much?’ she asked, and Amicia’s heart almost stopped beating.

But Ghause swept on. ‘Do you know the Queen’s friend, Lady Mary?’ she asked.

Amicia was, by this time, adept enough at defending herself. She answered cautiously.

‘I met her in the aftermath of the great battle,’ she said.

Ghause laughed. ‘There are no “great battles”, woman,’ she said. ‘Yon Lady Mary is betrothed to my Gavin.’

‘Yes, I believe I knew there was somewhat between them,’ Amicia said without lowering her guard, and Ghause laughed aloud.

‘This is my dotage!’ she said. ‘To sit in my solar and gossip about the lovers of my sons.’ She leaned forward. ‘I like you, witch.’

Those words stayed with Amicia to the end of her life.

The Earl of the North sent twenty knights and almost a hundred soldiers to march with the caravan across the winter snows, and they went in sleighs. The Northwallers had many ways of moving in winter that were almost forgotten in Albinkirk, if they’d ever been known there, and the Etruscan merchants were shocked, and a little delighted, to see how fast a horse-drawn sleigh could move along an Adnacrag lake. They could easily make ten leagues in two hours – sometimes more – and then they’d face another weary climb up a ridge to the next lake. Sometimes the military road was clear enough to take the sleighs, and once, they had to unload every bundle and carry it.

The Earl’s youngest son accompanied the convoy, commanding his father’s men. He was dark and morose, like many young men, and yet Amicia found him easy to like – not just a pale reflection of his older brothers, but a youth already giving signs of being a solemn, cautious man. He found her watching the bundles of furs moved by ropes up a ridge.

‘Winter is always with us,’ he said. ‘We make war in winter, and we travel if we have to. It is the one time that most of the Wild is asleep.’ He leaned close. ‘What is Gabriel like, now?’ he asked.

She closed her mind with a snap and closed her expression, as well. ‘He is a good knight, ser. That is all I can say.’

It took them just six days to reach the crossing of the river where the whole adventure had begun, and the sleighs crossed on ice – breaking through in many places, but never so deep as to spill their loads. The wagon beds were shaped like boats and waterproof.

The Northwallers knew all about winter.

And when she could see Albinkirk between her horse’s ears, Amicia allowed her eyes to mist over a little.

Riding gave her too much time to think.

She kissed Ser John goodbye in the yard of the citadel of the town, and the thin population cheered their captain, the merchants, and the young nun.

She had a serious meeting with the bishop, and went back to her duties at South Ford.

Lonika – Duke Andronicus

Three hundred leagues and more to the east, servants were removing the spruce wreaths from the beautiful mosaicked hall. It was almost a month since Epiphany. The old Duke of Thrake sat in his Great Hall with his son and a dozen other of his officers arrayed before him like supplicants – including the magister, Aeskepiles, who lurked at the back like a criminal.

‘I had to, Pater. He was the very spawn of Satan – he was driving our people out of the city and beating us everywhere.’ Demetrius stood straight before his father. He didn’t appear to feel any remorse.

Andronicus sat, chin in his hand, on a heavy chair very like a throne. ‘You asked me, and I said
no.
Then you went behind my back with that sorcerer and you had him killed.’

‘What matters it?’ Demetrius asked. ‘He’s dead and buried. The princess is dismissing his company. She’s being careful – wouldn’t you, when dealing with such a nest of vipers? But they’ll be gone in a few days, and then we can march south.’

Aeskepiles cleared his throat. ‘We are months behind our schedule, and we need to move.’

Andronicus raised his eyebrows. ‘Schedule? Master sorcerer, I do not have a
schedule.
I intend to save my country from a usurper and from a long reign of bad government. That will take
years.
’

Aeskepiles was very still for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice sounded unctuous. ‘Of course, my lord. I only spoke in the most general of fashions. Please forgive me.’ He leaned forward. ‘I am still surprised at the ease of his unmaking.’

‘Ease?’ Demetrius spat. ‘Three botched attempts and then he was killed when an amulet exploded?’

Aeskepiles smiled. ‘I could not have hoped for better,’ he said.

Andronicus looked at both of them as if they were children. ‘You imagine she will invite us back,’ he said.

‘If she does not, we can simply tell the people that she betrayed her own father,’ Demetrius said.

Andronicus raised his head from his fist. ‘And everyone will believe us, of course. Listen, you two fools. What you have done is to win this stalemate – and for
her.
She has the army, now – this Red Knight saw to that. She has her own fleet and it has been paid. The Etruscans, may they be damned to hell, will now pay
her
a tax.’ He sat back and rested both arms on the arms of his huge chair. ‘In a way – in a strange way – I admire this Red Knight. He did many of the things I’d have liked to do myself.’ He looked at Demetrius. ‘I suspect that when she is ready, she will offer you marriage, my son. And you will accept it. My titles will be restored, and you will be her consort. If you are lucky, you will be allowed to lead armies. At some point, some impious man will put a knife in her father’s throat or wrap a bowstring around it.’

Aeskepiles looked at the old Duke as if he were a pile of dung. ‘What foolishness is this? And no man living calls me a fool to my face.’

The old Duke sneered. ‘You are a fool. An arrogant, power-mad fool, just as the Patriarch warned me. Arrest him.’ He waved at two soldiers. ‘Never fear, Magister – I was never going to make you Patriarch anyway.’ He turned to his son. ‘But what am I going to do with you?’ he asked.

Liviapolis – The Red Knight

The company marched out of Liviapolis at the break of day, and it was clear from the moment that they cleared the palace gate that the princess was not going to trust them even in the streets of the city. The Vardariotes took post all along their line of the march, and all the city stradiotes followed at their heels. Two hundred Nordikans rode along behind their baggage train, threatening instant retribution for any misdeed.

Ser Jehan led the column, with Ser Milus at his side carrying the furled black banner. Men wore their scarlet surcoats with an air of surly defiance. Most of the archers glared at the bystanders who came to gape – most of the men-at-arms rode with their eyes down. The company’s women rode palfreys, now, and most wore short swords and scarlet cot-hardies too, but uniformity couldn’t hide their air of desperation.

The word was that the mercenaries were being evicted unpaid.

Near the gate, a pair of Nordikans saluted Ser Jehan, and Wilful Murder spat.

Just behind him, Nell giggled. As they rode through the great Gate of Ares, she poked Wilful in the ribs. ‘You’re over-acting,’ she said.

‘Shut up, hussy,’ he hissed. ‘You’ll wreck it all, and the spies’ll hear you and we’ll all be killed. Mark my words.’

When the company passed under the Gate of Ares for the last time, the two Nordikans on duty saluted with their axes until the last woman had passed under the iron portcullis. And then they mounted horses already saddled, and joined the company of Nordikans and the stradiotes shadowing the company.

They marched west on the road to Alba. After the crossroads, the pace picked up. A mile past the crossroads, a hundred Vardariotes galloped past them, spraying dust from the newly hardened ground. The snow was already melted in the valleys, although the rivers were full, and there were flowers in the lowest ground. And the sun was rising earlier.

The man-at-arms behind Ser Milus – the only man in the whole column with his helmet laced on – raised his visor and took a deep breath. Toby leaned over and helped him unlace the great helm he wore, and Father Arnaud helped him with the catches.

When it came off his head, he smiled, his black beard framed in the mail of his aventail, and he swept his great horse out of the column and galloped along.

If there had been watchers in the hills, they’d have heard three ringing cheers.

But the scouts and the Vardariotes had seen to that. The Nordikans joined the company columns, and the city stradiotes fell in as well. And six leagues north of the city, Mag waited with Ser Giorgios and forty more wagons, smuggled out of the city two at a time over the last two weeks.

The Red Knight formed his army in two ranks on either side of the road. He rode all the way along their front, so that they could all see him with his helmet off.

‘Listen, my friends,’ he shouted. They were perfectly silent. ‘I’m a devious bastard, and I don’t always share my plans. But here’s the word – we’ve slipped out of the city, the roads are hard, and in the next few days we’re going to
rescue the Emperor
.’

For the Nordikans and the stradiotes, the promise of heaven wouldn’t have been better. A cheer belted out to the sky.

He waited until they were done.

‘And then Andronicus will have to come for us,’ he said. ‘We’ll have the better men. He’ll have the numbers.’ He turned his horse in a circle. ‘Every man here, whether a Morean or a mercenary, wants this over with. I intend to force him to commit to a battle. And then I intend that we win it.’ He grinned. ‘We don’t want him to hole up in a fortress. We want him to find us and attack. So follow orders, be alert, and remember – we’re going to have the Emperor with us.’

They cheered again.

Gabriel Muriens wondered what it would be like to exert such power over men’s minds that they would cheer like that for him.

‘March,’ he called. And the army swung onto the road by sections, and followed him.

At Kilkis they turned north. Lord Phokus joined them with another hundred stradiotes, and as many archers mounted on ponies, and they didn’t march north – they dashed north, into Thrake. On the first day they managed almost forty miles. They made a hasty camp where the scouts led them. Before dawn, a barely recovered Gelfred, still white around his own edges, dashed away, and the army rose in the chilly dark, donned armour, cursed the darkness and did not light a single candle. The ground of their fireless camp was littered with forgotten items – but the army passed over the Thrakian hills that day. They had another day of sun, and the roads stayed hard. They were on the ancient Imperial road and the bridges were stone-built.

On the third hard day they made a camp and surrounded it with felled trees in a long criss-crossed abattis like a temporary cattle fence, and they slept with fires lit. They were only fifty leagues from Lonika, and forty from the coast, through the steepest mountains many of them had ever seen.

That day, the flying column detached from the main army – sixty Vardariotes, a dozen lances, and as many Scholae and Nordikans, all with multiple horses. They crossed a tall bridge of ancient stones that towered over a river rushing black beneath its three arches. Chunks of ice were piled against the bridge, and it shuddered as further ice floes struck it, but the bridge was a thousand years old and an early spring was not a serious threat to it.

They rode east, the Red Knight and Gelfred and Count Zac at their head. With them rode Jules Kronmir. He wore a sword and armour like the rest of them.

After an hour of cantering over winter grass, the column halted and every man changed horses.

Ser Michael was with the priest. He knelt briefly in prayer, and then rose to check his girth. He looked at Ser Michael and raised an eyebrow. ‘Why is it that I’m guessing I’m going to hate every minute of the next few days?’ the priest asked.

‘I don’t know any more than you,’ Ser Michael said. ‘But my gut tells me you’re spot on.’

An hour later they emerged from deep fog to find themselves cantering across dead grass and bracken that reached to their horses’ bellies. All the Vardariotes but Count Zac and his immediate staff were gone – vanished into the fog.

They halted and changed horses, and they were off again.

At sunset, they stopped long enough to put feed bags on their horses’ heads, and eat some sausage. The Red Knight walked from man to man, down the column. He said the same thing to every man.

‘We’re taking an insane risk, and playing for everything,’ he said with a grin. ‘No sleep tonight. Just keep going. Ignore the fog. That’s what scouts are for.’ He passed back up the column, leaving Ser Michael and Father Arnaud to speculate as to what he intended. At the head of the column stood a man holding a pony. The Red Knight bowed to him.