The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (17 page)

Fallon’s genius plan – to send him ahead as a makeshift diplomat – had hit an early snag when a large patrol from South Warden had spotted him and given chase. Their armour had slowed them down, but Al-Hasim was now on foot and was not able to gain any distance on the Red knights.

All he could see was trees and snow. The trees were tall and looming, and the snow was deep and freezing cold. He had been further north, having spent much time in Fjorlan, but he’d only ever visited Fredericksand and rarely strayed far from the fire-pits. Trudging through a snowy forest in the middle of nowhere was arguably the most unpleasant thing he’d ever done.

‘Karesian, halt!’ The horseman had appeared from behind a tree. He was an armed knight of the Red, wrapped in a thick cloak and holding a longsword across his chest.

‘Er... no,’ replied Hasim, darting to the left and raising his knees high to gain purchase in the deep snow.

‘Halt!’ the knight repeated, wheeling his horse and trying to manoeuvre after the fleeing man.

Hasim drew his scimitar and kept a wide tree trunk between him and the knight. He couldn’t see or hear any others in pursuit and he hoped the man was an advance scout of some kind. The Red knight was a skilled rider and kept his horse under control, cutting off Hasim’s escape and driving him towards a dense bramble thicket.

Hasim swore under his breath as the snow hampered his escape. He couldn’t run quickly and any movement required considerable exertion.

‘Right, come on then!’ he snapped, when all avenues of escape had been explored and discarded.

The knight pulled back on his reins and the large warhorse reared, kicking out at Hasim. He rolled out of the way, narrowly missing a downward sword stroke. The knight wheeled round, keeping Hasim trapped.

‘Just forget you found me,’ he said, doing an ungainly forward roll into the snow.

‘Submit to justice,’ replied the knight, pressing his advantage.

Through a combination of agility and blind luck Hasim managed to avoid being trampled by the horse. He got to his feet, his back to a tree, and stood ready.

The knight turned his horse sharply, knocking Hasim back and spilling the air from his lungs. Face down in the snow, he rolled sideways, pulling himself under a dense mass of brambles.

‘Just fuck off!’

The horse trampled forward, crushing the brambles and driving Hasim back into the open.

Then a dog barked. Or maybe it was a dozen dogs barking. Either way, it was loud and alarmingly close, cutting through the sound of armour and horse.

Hasim rolled out of the brambles and lay face to face with a huge, snarling dog. It had massively muscled shoulders and a squat muzzle, but he didn’t register much past the slobbering mouth and abundance of teeth.

‘Good dog,’ he stuttered, forgetting about the horse and backing away.

‘Back, beast,’ shouted the knight, pointing his sword at the dog.

The warhorse stamped at the ground in alarm and shook its head violently. More barking and the horse stuttered backward, nearly throwing its rider. Hasim crawled through the snow, his face and hands cut by brambles, trying to get clear of the dog and the knight. Luckily, they seemed more concerned with one another than with the cowering Karesian.

The dog pounced. Its back legs braced for a moment, displacing the snow, then it leapt at the knight. As big as it was, it couldn’t reach the knight’s body, so settled for a mouthful of leg. The chain skirts that protected his legs proved no impediment to the beast’s powerful jaws. A scream, a spray of blood, and the knight was yanked from his saddle. He flailed at the snow, trying to force open the dog’s mouth as it shook him violently, biting deep into his thigh. The knight was tiny compared with the dog and his strength waned quickly. His laboured screams became gargles as the dog flung him around, mauling the fallen man.

‘Well, you two seem to be getting on well. Don’t let me get in the way,’ muttered Al-Hasim, crawling slowly away from the spectacle.

The gargling ended and the knight stopped moving. Hopefully, he tasted good and the dog would not feel the need to turn round and add Karesian to his diet.

‘Stay on your belly, man of the sun,’ said a voice.

Hasim rolled over swiftly, bringing his scimitar to bear. In front of him, half hidden in the snowy brush, were a dozen people. They were bare-chested and marked with the blue designs of Crescent night-raiders. He had heard of them, and he hoped they were friendly.

He didn’t stand. ‘There’s a fucking big dog over there.’

One of the Ranen whistled and the huge dog bounded away from the dead knight. It was the biggest dog he’d ever seen. Bigger than the wolfhounds common to Fjorlan and much larger than the hunting dogs used in Tor Funweir. It nuzzled up to one of the men and received a playful scratch behind the ears.

‘Is that a Volk war-hound?’ he asked.

A few of the night-raiders looked at one another impassively, in muted acknowledgement that Hasim did know something.

‘Er, shall I introduce myself?’ he asked, when none of them answered him.

More silence.

‘I’m Al-Hasim. I come from South Warden seeking allies against the knights of the Red. And looking for an attractive young lady.’ He smiled cheekily, hoping they would have a sense of humour. ‘She’s called Bronwyn. I think she came by these parts.’

PART 2

CHAPTER 6

HALLA SUMMER WOLF IN THE CITY OF JARVIK

T
HE MOOD OF
Jarvik matched the rugged terrain in which the city nestled. The City of the Green-Eyed Lords was at the highest point of the plateau of Ursa and dominated the barren, rocky terrain. It was far from the coast and relied on snow melt and underground rivers for its fresh water, while its livestock was kept in heated buildings on the northern edge of town. The predominant colour was grey and it lent the city a harsh and humourless edge. Living so long under the house of Ursa might also have contributed to the people’s sour disposition.

The gullies that stretched from Hammerfall, through the Bear’s Mouth, and ultimately to the Low Kast, were at their narrowest in Jarvik and looked like nothing so much as jagged fissures in the icy ground, through which fresh water bubbled up from vast underground lakes. The city was encircled by a seemingly bottomless gully which acted as Jarvik’s natural defence, though much of it had now been built over or covered in, leaving just a few sheer drops into blackness. Although the outer walls were built of stone and dug into the natural rock, most of the inner buildings were constructed of wood and thatch, with the more important structures built half underground in order to protect them against the cold winds that lashed the city.

Jarvik wasn’t as large as Fredericksand, or as impressive and ancient as Tiergarten. It was a lump of a city, which gave the impression of having simply been dumped in the most hospitable area of an inhospitable plateau.

‘It’s time,’ said Wulfrick from the window.

They’d been in the city of Ursa for almost two weeks, slowly moving their five hundred-strong company through the gullies and quietly into Jarvik. The majority of the city’s battle-brothers were either with their thain in Fredericksand or at the Bear’s Mouth with Grammah Black Eyes, the bastard currently razing Hammerfall. Halla and her captains had met no resistance and the remaining chain-masters evidently didn’t consider a stealthy incursion to be a threat. There were no gate guards and many of the streets were devoid of life, making it easy for Halla’s company to put things in place.

Rexel Falling Cloud had taken men to secure the city’s ballistae. Oleff Hard Head had quietly moved men into position round the chapel of Rowanoco. Heinrich Blood and Anya Lullaby had met with disgruntled citizens all too willing to throw in their lot with Halla, and the axe-maiden herself had remained close to the Ranen assembly while the large spider bite in her chest healed.

Wulfrick, the huge axe-master of Fredericksand, had remained with her and ensured that their men were spread throughout the city, waiting quietly until Halla judged it was time to reveal themselves.

The non-combatants among her company had been the last to enter Jarvik. They had picked up women and children from burning villages in Hammerfall and placed them safely in the farming and livestock areas away from the assembly. Halla expected them to remain in the city when she left with her battle-brothers. She silently thanked Rowanoco that she would no longer be responsible for those too weak, too old or too young to fight.

‘Is everything in place?’ she asked Wulfrick, rising from her chair and retrieving her walking stick.

The Gorlan venom had been a persistent foe, not easily defeated. Even now, her muscles ached and her mood was dark.

‘Everything was in place a week ago,’ he replied. ‘We’ve been waiting for our leader to be able to walk by herself. I didn’t want to have to carry you when we reveal ourselves... it sends the wrong message.’

They were in a small stone house next to the assembly. They’d found the building deserted and had moved in, using the house as a central point from which to coordinate their incursion into the hostile city. Halla, Wulfrick and twenty of her toughest axe-men had watched the comings and goings of the city’s populace closely, identifying those that would need killing and those that could be potential allies. The senior loyalist left in Jarvik was the chain-master David Emerald Eyes. He was one of the few men left over from before the family of Ursa took the city. By all accounts, the old warrior was no friend to Rulag Ursa or his loathsome son.

‘Give Rexel the nod,’ she said, testing her aching limbs, ‘and tell Oleff to enter the chapel.’

‘Aye, my lady,’ responded the axe-master with a shallow nod.

Wulfrick turned from Halla to the waiting men, standing eagerly by the door to their acquired headquarters.

‘You heard her, lads... it’s time. Get to it,’ he said with quiet authority. ‘Quick and quiet, by the time they know what we’re doing it’ll already be done.’

They all saluted and split up, Rudolph Ten Bears taking men northwards to the chapel of Rowanoco, and Lars Bull taking others westwards to the outer wall. Five stayed with Halla and Wulfrick and waited for the next order.

Halla felt stronger than she had since leaving the spider caverns, but she was not yet fully mobile. The ice spiders had potent venom which had only been counteracted by the combined craft of the wise woman Anya and the novice of the Order of the Hammer, Heinrich. She could walk unaided now but still preferred to use a walking stick to keep herself upright. It was more dignified than leaning on Wulfrick’s huge shoulders.

‘Shall we go?’ asked the axe-master, picking up his two-handed axe from the floor.

It was early morning and their plan was to march up to the Ranen assembly and announce their presence to the few remaining lords of Jarvik. Most of those who remained were old men. She hoped that a few well-placed threats would make their coup a bloodless one.

They stepped out of the building and on to the hard stone streets of Jarvik. The morning was freezing cold, with a crisp wind. The cold made the wound in her chest throb and she grumbled quietly, realizing that if there were a fight she would be unable to take part. She still carried her axe, insisting that it remained at her hip, but she was too weak to heft it with any force.

‘Who do we have to worry about?’ she asked.

The small group made their way across a wide avenue towards the stepped building that lay at the centre of the city. There were no guards, but the lords would be in attendance. Rowanoco’s Stone had to be occupied during the hours of daylight, and deliberations took place from dawn till dusk.

‘The Blood Fists are still here,’ replied Wulfrick. ‘I don’t know which one is in charge, but he’ll be in there and likely be an arrogant bastard.’

‘Thran,’ said another of her men. ‘His name is Thran Blood Fist. He’s a pig.’

‘Well, let us hope he behaves himself,’ responded Wulfrick, with a violent grin.

Halla limped up the steps and approached the heavy wooden doors. Wulfrick and the others were polite enough to stand behind and let her lead. The axe-master had his great axe slung casually over his shoulder and the other men were similarly armed. She held her walking stick tightly and used her other hand to push the doors inwards. A grunt of exertion showed the others that her strength was insufficient to move the heavy oak and Wulfrick moved to assist her.