The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (13 page)

From a little way to the west, the yeomanry had noticed activity on the plain and a detachment of soldiers was moving towards their position.

‘Vladimir, you might want to make yourself known,’ Fallon said, gesturing to the approaching yeomanry. ‘Ask them to assist with these men.’

He had almost called them my men, and he felt a heavy sense of responsibility for what had been done to Theron and the others.

The soldiers approached tentatively, with their weapons drawn. There were five of them, with crossbows. Fallon raised his arms to show that he wasn’t hostile and motioned for Vladimir, who was still slouching on the grass, to rise and address his men.

‘Yes, yes,’ grumbled the Lord of Mud. ‘I may get some rest at some stage... just not yet.’ He hauled himself to his feet and stepped past Fallon to greet the approaching men.

‘Easy, lads,’ said Vladimir, with a note of relief in his voice, ‘don’t you recognize your commander?’

The soldiers paused ten feet from the wooden stakes.

‘Identify yourself.’

Dawn was breaking but it was still too gloomy for faces to be easily made out. Hasim skulked back to stand next to Fallon, wearily holding the hilt of his scimitar.

‘You know, it’s possible that these men will have a cleric or two in their camp,’ whispered the Karesian. ‘We should be cautious.’

‘Nonsense,’ stated Vladimir. His voice rose in volume and was directed towards the soldiers. ‘I am Lord Vladimir Corkoson, commander of the Darkwald yeomanry... and in desperate need of a drink.’

* * *

Luckily, Al-Hasim’s suspicions proved baseless. Within half an hour they were sitting in Vladimir’s pavilion in the middle of the camp. Fallon’s order that his men be cut down and cared for had been obeyed quickly. He formed the impression that fear of Brother Jakan had been the only thing stopping the Darkwald folk from doing so already.

At the pavilion entrance were clustered a dozen of Vladimir’s senior staff. Behind them, the majority of the six thousand-strong army were awake, having heard the news that their commander had escaped. Exactly what this meant for the Darkwald yeomanry was the main topic of conversation and only the steady hand of Major Dimitri had stopped the men from rushing the pavilion to give thanks.

Theron, Ohms and the survivors from Fallon’s former unit were being cared for in a nearby tent, Brother Lanry using his healing arts to pull them back from the brink of death. Al-Hasim, Fallon and Vladimir were taking a hard-earned rest in the Lord of Mud’s pavilion. With the sun now casting a dull glow over the misty Plains of Scarlet it would be only a matter of time before their escape was noticed and Fallon needed to come up with further strategy for staying alive. Strategy. He hated it.

‘My lord,’ began Major Dimitri, a man in late middle age with dusty blond hair to his shoulders and an ill-fitting chain shirt, ‘I am thankful to the One that you are alive and unhurt, but we need to come up with a plan. The Purple cleric will return this morning and want answers.’

The Lord of Mud glanced at Fallon. ‘Strategy is not my forte, major. Perhaps we should ask our resident knight of the Red.’ He gestured to the seated exemplar.

Fallon coughed politely and leant forward. He was perched on the edge of a comfortable couch which had clearly been used as someone’s bed in the recent past. To his left was the Karesian scoundrel, Al-Hasim, taking the whole situation in his stride and taking the opportunity to fill his belly with a hastily prepared breakfast of hard bread and even harder cheese.

‘I am not a knight,’ said Fallon. ‘Neither are the dozen men we pulled down from those stakes.’

‘You’re Sir Fallon of Leith,’ stated Dimitri, with a hint of reverence. ‘You are famous, even in the Darkwald. I assume you have a plan?’

Al-Hasim grinned, spilling crumbs of bread from his mouth. ‘Er, major, I think the plan was to escape South Warden... I don’t think Fallon had a plan beyond that.’

Dimitri frowned, unsure why a Karesian was present. It also occurred to Fallon that Al-Hasim had been fighting in the breach at South Warden and would have killed men of the yeomanry.

‘When does Jakan arrive?’ asked Fallon.

Dimitri puffed out his cheeks and looked at the lightening sky through the tent flaps. ‘A few hours after dawn usually. He brings a guard of other clerics with him. They have a strange obsession with inspecting the men. They’re the same today as they were yesterday, but still we must line up and be inspected.’

‘We need to be gone before they arrive, surely?’ asked Vladimir, drinking deeply from a brass goblet.

Fallon considered. The yeomanry were not a match for the knights, no matter how loyal they were to Vladimir. But he did not feel like running. His honour was now all he had, and the One had more in store for him than a pointless death on the fields of Scarlet.

‘We stay,’ he said.

Vladimir frowned, Al-Hasim laughed and Major Dimitri looked confused.

‘I think I’ll get drunk again,’ said the Lord of Mud, with a laboured sigh.

‘I might join you,’ agreed Hasim.

Dimitri glanced at both men, clearing his throat. ‘I have nothing but respect for you, Sir Fallon, but do you think your strategy a wise one?’

‘Don’t worry, major, that is not the limit of my strategy,’ replied Fallon, thinking quickly as he spoke. ‘Tristram would not risk a battle against the yeomanry. His knights will rant and roar, cursing your names and your home, but they won’t force a confrontation.’

‘Er, they’d likely win, though,’ interrupted Hasim.

Dimitri looked offended at this, but confined himself to a frown.

‘That’s not the point,’ said Fallon. ‘Win or lose, they’ll end up a long way from home with a small army. With no yeomanry to rely on, they’re vulnerable against the northern Ranen. Tristram knows that, even if the king and Mobius don’t.’

Vladimir cleared his throat and placed his goblet on a table. ‘Fallon, my men are common folk. Maybe a few are true fighting men, but you can’t lead them against the knights.’

‘I don’t plan to,’ Fallon replied, locking eyes with the Lord of Mud. ‘You need to trust me, Vladimir.’

Dimitri coughed hesitantly. ‘The knight general has been summoned from Ro Arnon. He’ll be here soon. I don’t know how many men Sir Malaki Frith commands, but I doubt the king will need the yeomanry.’

‘How far is Ranen Gar?’ asked Fallon.

Hasim considered. ‘Three weeks travel, maybe. There are a lot of Ranen between here and there. Moon clans, Free Companies...’

‘And that’s where Lady Bronwyn is bound?’ Fallon was beginning to form a plan.

Hasim nodded. ‘Long Shadow wanted the help of the Moon clans, and Dominic Black Claw commands three or four companies at Ranen Gar. He’ll fight if given the chance.’

Fallon had heard of the Black Claw family. They were the protectors of the Freelands and, by all accounts, deranged followers of the Ice Giant. They had no legitimate claim to nobility but were known in Tor Funweir nonetheless. They were no allies of the Ro.

‘And me?’ asked Fallon. ‘How will the captain of Greywood Company look upon me?’

‘Don’t know, never met the man,’ replied Hasim. ‘But he won’t like the knights being in South Warden.’

‘I think you should go and ask him, my friend,’ said Fallon.

‘Me? I’m no diplomat.’

‘You don’t need to be, you just need not to be a Ro. Catch up with Bronwyn and carry my greetings to Black Claw and any other Ranen you meet. Tell them I wish to get the Red knights out of Ranen... just as much as they do. It’s the same deal, they’re just making it with me rather than Long Shadow.’

‘Well, there are a lot of Moon clans between here and Ranen Gar,’ replied Hasim.

‘If they’re close enough, we’ll need them soon. If Malaki Frith wants to pick a fight.’

They were all looking at him. He really hoped that he knew what he was doing, but he didn’t let any doubt show in his face.

Time slowed and Torian’s shade appeared to Fallon. The Purple cleric was armed and armoured, though still indistinct.

‘You have made a strong decision, exemplar.’

Fallon didn’t respond aloud, letting the words form in his mind. ‘People are going to die here, this is not a time for half-measures or weak words. This is a time for conviction, and for honour.’

Torian thrust out his chest and held his head high. ‘You are no longer a knight of the Red.’

‘No, I am not,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know what I am.’

The shade drew his incorporeal sword and placed it on Fallon’s shoulder. ‘You are a knight of the Grey, you follow the aspect of honour. Know that you and you alone speak for the One... not the king, not Mobius.’

Thus knighted, Fallon the Grey stood and saw the world through different eyes. The others looked at him, as if some tangible difference had become evident in his demeanour.

‘Vladimir, muster your men – fully armed and armoured – and have them stand to at the eastern edge of camp. You and Major Dimitri will accompany me to speak to Brother Jakan.’ He spoke with a note of command, powerful and in control. ‘Hasim, you get going before the Purple fucker arrives.’

The three of them paused, looking at each other, until Hasim smiled and gave a mock salute. ‘Major, could I trouble you for a horse?’

* * *

The light barely penetrated the black clouds as Fallon made his way to the front of the column. The Darkwald yeomanry fanned out behind him in organized ranks, crossbows to the fore, standing above two thousand crouching pikemen. Cavalry guarded the flanks and columns of swordsmen stretched across the Plains of Scarlet.

Vladimir’s men numbered six thousand. Tristram and the king commanded five thousand, though they were far better trained. It was a gamble, but not a bluff. The yeomanry had trebuchets and could, if Vladimir ordered it, bloody the king’s nose – but any confrontation, however stubbornly they fought, would inevitably end with the knights victorious.

‘My head doesn’t hurt any more,’ muttered Vladimir, coming to join Fallon.

‘Stress has that effect, my lord.’

‘Also makes me want a drink. It’s sort of a cycle. A never-ending cycle,’ replied the Lord of Mud. He glanced around, seeming to realize for the first time that he was standing at the very front of his army. ‘Shouldn’t we have horses? Might make us look more serious.’

Fallon smiled at him. ‘Do I not look serious to you?’

Vladimir patted the swordsman on the shoulder in a comradely manner. ‘You look fucking terrifying. I, on the other hand, look like a puddle of sweat.’

As if answering his query, Major Dimitri rode into view. He led two horses and was accompanied by Sir Theron. Fallon’s former adjutant was battered and bloodied, but had a look of hard determination in his eyes.

‘Much better,’ joked Vladimir, pulling himself awkwardly into a saddle.

‘Captain,’ said Theron, throwing Fallon a second set of reins.

‘No longer. It’s just Fallon now,’ he replied. ‘How’s your faith?’ It was a complicated question, but being tortured and tied to a stake was one of the very few things that could make a Red knight begin to question his place in the One’s design.

‘I have decided that, as I am still alive, I should do what I know to be right,’ replied Theron. ‘The One and I will need to have a long and difficult communion should I ever leave the Freelands.’

Fallon mounted the horse and adjusted his newly acquired leather armour. ‘I’m not pious, my friend, but we are doing the right thing. Stand by me and let’s tell Jakan what we think of him.’

This made Theron smile. He wheeled his horse next to Fallon’s, resting his hand on the longsword at his belt.

‘I don’t suppose you know who has my sword?’ asked the exemplar.

‘Commander Tristram took it,’ he replied. ‘I think he wanted to keep it from Jakan, my lord.’

Fallon laughed at the title. ‘It’s going to take some practice to use my name, isn’t it... Theron?’

A bugle sounded from the gates of South Warden and they all looked towards the city. Dimitri and Vladimir sat astride their horses just behind Fallon and Theron. Fallon waved his hand, bringing the nervous noblemen into a more equal position.

‘Okay, but you’re doing the talking,’ grumbled the Lord of Mud, shifting uncomfortably in his armour.

Horses emerged from the repaired wooden gates and a guard of several dozen men rode quickly away from the city. Two flags were carried – the clenched fist of the Red and the sceptre of the Purple. The sound of their armour and their horses’ hooves carried across the Plains of Scarlet. Fallon did not need to look behind him to know that the Darkwald yeomanry would be nervous as Brother Jakan approached.

‘He’s got more company than usual, sir,’ announced Major Dimitri.

‘So have you,’ replied Fallon. ‘They’re not idiots, they’ve been watching your men assemble for an hour.’

‘Are you going to kill Jakan?’ asked Theron.

He didn’t answer. Breathing deeply, he focused on the approaching riders. As the point of mutual recognition approached, he smiled.

Jakan had seen him. The cleric was fully armoured and a look of sudden panic came across his face. Word spread quickly among the approaching riders and each man moved a hand to his sword hilt in readiness.

‘Fallon of Leith!’ roared Jakan, bringing his panic under control. ‘Throw down your sword and submit to arrest.’

‘No!’ he shouted in reply.

‘Very witty,’ whispered Vladimir. ‘Just try not to start a massive fight.’

Jakan and the knights fanned out and came to a stop ten feet in front of them. The cleric registered surprise at Theron and Vladimir, but anger at being face to face with Fallon kept his face harsh.

‘Brother Jakan, what can we do for you?’ asked Fallon casually.

‘You are a vow-breaker,’ announced the cleric, wheeling his horse theatrically. ‘Lord Corkoson, you are a traitor.’ He drew his sword with a flourish. ‘Major Dimitri, arrest these men.’

The minor nobleman held himself upright. His eyes flickered at Vladimir and Fallon, making him look unsure in spite of his best efforts.

‘I defer to Sir Fallon,’ replied Dimitri, holding his breath with nervous tension.

‘You will pay with blood for your treachery,’ snapped Jakan. ‘We will eradicate your feeble army. You, Lord Corkoson, have doomed your people to death under the boot of Tor Funweir.’