The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (47 page)

‘Where’s Utha?’ Once the thought had entered his head, it was all he could think about. ‘Please tell me I didn’t get him killed. I don’t think I could live with that.’

‘The old-blood and the exemplar escaped,’ she replied. ‘I killed the enchantress before she could pursue them.’

Randall smiled. He felt like an idiot, but he smiled anyway. His head was heavy, though the sensation was not unpleasant. His fingertips were sensitive and the wind crackled across his skin. Somewhere, beyond the stress of enchantment, the fatigue of travel and the fear of the unknown, he felt happy.

CHAPTER 6

FYNIUS BLACK CLAW IN THE CITY OF SOUTH WARDEN

T
HE KNIGHTS OF
Ro were stupid. They were arrogant, short-sighted, ordered and easy to trick. They made war in organized lines and became confused whenever their enemy was not right in front of them. He thought it little challenge to outwit them, but with Brytag’s wisdom he was going to do it anyway. He was going to do it with five hundred men of Twilight Company and six hundred idiots of the Crescent. As long as everyone shut up and let him think, Fynius was confident they would take South Warden back from the bastards of Ro.

He smiled, looking from the tree line towards the northern wall of the city. The Red men were distracted, with plenty of interesting things to look at on the Plains of Scarlet. The Karesian’s estimate of their numbers had been wildly inaccurate, or maybe things had changed since he left. Fynius didn’t care. Either way, there were three distinct armies within sight of South Warden.

‘What do those banners mean?’ he asked the man of the sun, crouching next to him on the edge of the Moon Woods.

‘Which ones?’ asked Hasim.

Fynius didn’t answer.

‘Hey, which ones?’ repeated the man of the sun.

‘The red ones.’

‘They’re all red. Be more specific.’

Fynius guessed that the king was in South Warden and that Lallon of Feith, or whatever his name was, had the wooden stockade to the west. It was the mass of armour and horses to the south that he was worried about.

Hasim waved a hand in front of the captain’s face. ‘Are you listening to me?’

‘On occasion,’ replied Fynius. ‘Those banners.’ He pointed to the huge southern camp.

‘I don’t know what they all mean, but the main one – the crossed swords and clenched fist – that’s the banner of the Red cardinal, Malaki Frith. He wasn’t here when I left.’

Fynius turned to him and smiled. ‘So, how many Ro are on the Plains of Scarlet now?’

Hasim frowned. ‘You’re a disagreeable bastard, you know that?’

‘Answer the fucking question.’ He was still smiling.

The Karesian maintained eye contact and Fynius studied his face. Hasim wasn’t easy to scare. He was also lucky, and that was a worthy trait.

‘Maybe twenty thousand... and change,’ he replied.

‘And that Lallon fellow, where’s he?’

‘Fallon, his name’s Fallon. He’s in the yeomanry’s camp. The one place with no red banners.’

Fynius turned back to South Warden. The Red cardinal’s camp was newly constructed, suggesting he had only recently arrived. The camp of the yeomanry was locked up tight, indicating that Sir Fallon of Leith had not yet ventured forth to speak to the general. The city itself was more or less intact, suggesting there would be plenty of Ranen prisoners.

Interesting. Perhaps a plan was forming. Perhaps the Ro were about to get a lesson in how not to fuck with Fynius Black Claw and the Freelands of Ranen. Either way, he knew something was going to happen. He wasn’t sure what, but whatever it was, it was definitely going to happen.

‘You have some kind of idea?’ asked Hasim. ‘Or some magic power to turn your five hundred men into twenty thousand?’

Fynius ignored him, formulating his plan.

‘Maybe we should find a way to approach Fallon.’ The Karesian was clearly uncomfortable with silence. ‘Or send Bronwyn.’

The walls of South Warden were well defended on the western side, but the rest were largely empty. Few chimneys produced smoke and only the centre looked to be inhabited, though Rowanoco’s Stone was in ruins. His eyes twitched as he thought quickly.

Hasim didn’t ask any more questions and instead muttered swear words under his breath. He wasn’t a complete fool, so Fynius chose not to be too mean to him.

‘I am thinking,’ said the Ranen captain. ‘Your incessant prattling does not help.’

‘Incessant prattling? Big words,’ replied Hasim. ‘Not particularly polite, however.’

Fynius dropped his smile. He rubbed his hands together and spoke to the air. ‘I know he’s a friend, but if he doesn’t shut up, I’m going to hurt him.’

Hasim twisted his face upwards in confusion. ‘Who the fuck are you talking to?’

‘See what I mean?’ he demanded of Brytag. ‘Just because he’s lucky, doesn’t mean he’s helpful.’

‘Are you talking about me?’ asked the Karesian.

‘Don’t interrupt,’ snapped Fynius. ‘I’m talking to someone worth talking to.’

Hasim began to respond, but stopped before he could say anything unwise.

‘Look, man of the sun, I am formulating a plan. This plan does not involve much fighting, so the numbers... they’re irrelevant. I plan to talk to Fallon of Leith if and when I have to, not before. Any more questions?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Just one,’ he said. ‘Are you really mad, or is this all an act?’

Fynius didn’t respond. He sprang to his feet and darted forward through the trees. He waved his hand behind and the line of blue-clad warriors followed. They moved silently over uneven ground, their swords sheathed.

Twilight Company were the misfits, the younger brothers, the short in statue but quick of mind. They were called the rogues, the raven men, the blue twilight and Brytag’s wing. They were Fynius’s men, an extension of his will, and they were lucky and wise, blessed by the World Raven.

‘Vincent, with me,’ he whispered, coming to a stop at the last line of cover before the plains.

Vincent Hundred Howl, his cousin, ghosted next to him. Hasim followed, a look of exasperation on his dusky face,

‘The old cheese cellars?’ asked Vincent.

‘I think so, certainly,’ replied Fynius.

‘The what?’ interjected Hasim.

‘South Warden used to be famed for its cheese, man of the sun,’ answered Fynius. ‘I doubt you got much of it in Karesia.’

‘How does that help?’

Fynius breathed in deeply, fighting the urge to slap the slow-witted Karesian.

‘I wasn’t aware I had to tell you everything, Hasim. You had your chance to ask questions.’

‘Okay, just tell me... do you have a way into South Warden?’

‘I do. It doesn’t smell terribly nice, but I do,’ he replied.

* * *

Fynius didn’t like cheese. The soft, goat’s stuff you got in Old Gar was normally served on toast and tended to ruin the toast. The harder southern stuff smelled less, but its chewy texture made him retch.

South Warden made a tangy, red cheese that was matured in large underground cellars. He doubted that knights of the Red would deign to eat any cheese not blessed by the righteous piss of the One God, so they wouldn’t think to look for the wooden hatches to the north of the city, used to air the cheese.

Twilight Company was arrayed across the northern plains, crouched in the low ground. Everything was pointed away from them and it was easier to stay hidden than he had anticipated. Even the man of the sun was stealthy enough to avoid the occasional glare of a Red knight.

They approached a natural gully with circular wooden hatches at every ten paces. The grass half covered them and Fynius signalled to his men. They clustered, gathering in front of the hatches.

He paused, taking in the surroundings. The wooden walls of South Warden were close, barely a hundred feet away. The yeomanry’s stockade was just visible, its trebuchets poking above the foreground. To the south, the Red general’s camp was obscured. Fynius knew something was going to happen, but he wasn’t sure where. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure what either. Brytag didn’t give his wisdom in clear, concise lines. His visions came as snippets of mist, floating across his eyes. If he grabbed one, it became an idea. When it became an idea, he trusted it. He was still alive, so he must be doing something right.

‘South Warden is a Ranen city,’ he muttered. ‘It must not be in the hands of the Ro. We will take it back.’

With a quick movement he drew his sword. It was called Leg Biter, a gift from his big brother. The hatch was rusted shut from years of neglect and needed considerable leverage to open it. The smell was disgusting – unless you liked mouldy cheese, in which case it was probably quite nice.

Once open, a dark tunnel plunged away from him. Cobwebs and dust covered the smooth wood but the unmistakable smell of cheese carried from the underground cellars.

‘I like dark tunnels,’ he whispered to Vincent. ‘Let’s see where it leads.’

A wave of his hand and Twilight Company opened the other hatches. It would take time to move everyone into the tunnels and Fynius thought he should scout ahead.

‘I’ll get the men assembled in the cellars,’ said Vincent, picking up on his captain’s intentions.

‘Hasim, come with me,’ said Fynius, darting into the tunnel as the Karesian spluttered a whingeing reply.

The wooden planks were treated and bent into a perfect circle. Tufts of weed sprang up from splintered gaps, and the smell grew stronger. Within ten feet he had covered his nose. The cellars had not been used for some time and whatever remained had been left to fester. Hopefully, the knights hadn’t investigated the smell of over-ripe cheese. It was worse than the pungent mushrooms smoked by the Moon clans.

‘How did you know about this place?’ asked Hasim in his annoying, whining accent.

‘My mum loved the cheese from South Warden. She always said we’d go and visit the cheese-makers one day. We never did, but I remembered the cellars.’

The Karesian looked doubtful.

‘Okay, maybe Brytag told me,’ said Fynius. ‘What difference does it make?’

‘None. I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re either full of shit or you know something I don’t.’

Fynius ignored him and moved further along the tunnel. He had to crouch, but not so much that he couldn’t walk quickly. He knew the tunnels led to large cellars, but not much after that. He’d see something when he got there, he was sure.

The cramped, wooden passageway opened up and the two of them hopped down into a dark silo. Shafts of light spread downwards from broken planks, illuminating old tables and cheese-making equipment. From the angle of the light, he estimated that they were just inside the walls of South Warden.

‘Right, things to do, things to do,’ he muttered. ‘The king of Ro, the Purple man, the Red knights, Scarlet Company, the wise woman, Lilon of Foth.’

‘His name’s Fallon of Leith,’ interrupted Hasim.

‘What?’

‘It’s not that difficult a name to remember,’ said the Karesian.

Fynius ignored him. He walked to the middle of the cellar and looked at the ceiling. They weren’t under a building, which was useful, but he needed to get to Long Shadow’s hall. It was quite a way. Luckily, there were more tunnels leading away from the cellar.

‘We’re going to do some exploring,’ he said. ‘That way, I think.’

He picked a tunnel leading into the city and proceeded along it.

‘Seriously, are you full of shit?’ asked Hasim, grudgingly following the Ranen.

The tunnels leading away from the cellar were of cyclopean stone blocks, forced together with dusty grey mortar. Old wheels of cheese sat in wooden frames, gathering moisture and mould from the humid cellars. The floor dust was undisturbed and the torch emplacements rusted into odd shapes.

‘There’s nothing like an invasion to halt cheese-making,’ remarked Hasim.

‘Stopped before that,’ Fynius replied. ‘They’ve made normal, everyday cheese for years. These cellars are an expensive luxury when you’re short on funds and trying to feed a growing population.’

He paused, listening to the wind. It blew from several directions, swirling gently through the tunnels.

‘Shut up now, I’m thinking again,’ said Fynius, creeping slowly past the cheese racks.

They were under the city, moving towards the mount and Rowanoco’s Stone. Light was sporadic, appearing from small, angled holes every few paces. On the outside, the tunnels poked above the ground as semicircles of moss-covered stone. The Ranen of South Warden had abandoned them, so why would the Red knights think to look?

‘Find a loose stone, I need to see where we are,’ he said, testing the blocks with his foot.

Hasim joined him, using a knife to chip away at rotten mortar. He was crouched and foolishly trying to loosen the lower bricks.

‘Perhaps you should try higher up,’ said Fynius. ‘Try not to be too much of an idiot.’

He glared, looking like a sinister gremlin in the dark tunnel. But he seemed to accept his idiocy and moved to a brick that might lead outside.

Together they found a small section where the blocks of stone had crumbled. There was not much of a gap on the outside, but within, a solid shove would cause the stone shell to break. Fynius pulled away chunks of masonry and allowed a thick stream of morning sunshine to flood over his face. The gap was still small, but big enough to allow him to orient himself.