The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (5 page)

He’d always been an outsider, since before he joined the church, since before he cared about his pale skin and pink eyes. He didn’t belong and he’d always assumed that was his calling from the One God, a part of being infused with death.

But what his dreams told him was that he didn’t belong because he was not entirely human. If for no other reason than to discover who he was, Utha the Ghost, last old-blood of the Shadow Giants, would walk up the stairs, traverse the labyrinth and defeat the guardian.

CHAPTER 2

KALE GLENWOOD IN THE DUCHY OF HARAN

T
HE
W
ALLS OF
Ro were an impressive sight to a man who had never been to the western lands of Tor Funweir. The path through the mountains had been easy. It would have been dangerous, but Rham Jas had effortlessly seen off three bandit attacks. Glenwood had given the third group a chance to run, but they’d stubbornly refused to believe that the diminutive Kirin was dangerous.

The assassin had chosen to ride in the lead for the last few days and had actually stooped to talk to his companion. It seemed that Rham Jas Rami, arguably the most infuriating man he had ever met, was actually looking forward to their arrival in Ro Haran. He’d even spoken at length about his intention to get blisteringly drunk once he’d killed Shilpa the Shadow of Lies. After the events of the last few months Glenwood thought they both deserved it... assuming that for once they weren’t running away from their enemies.

As they followed the trail down through the mountains, the river lands of Haran came into view. In the valley were clusters of wooden villages where fishermen lived peaceful lives, isolated from the rest of Tor Funweir by the mountain range known as the Walls of Ro.

They were not yet within sight of the city, but it was no more than a day’s ride away. He had never seen the high banners of Haran, but the heraldry of the red hawk was well known, as were the city garrison, the Hawks.

‘Do you think the fishermen will have anything to drink?’ he asked, as the path dropped below the reach of the biting wind that lashed the higher altitudes.

Rham Jas turned in his saddle with a dubious grin. ‘Goat’s milk, maybe home-brew... nothing worth paying for.’

‘Anything worth stealing?’ countered Glenwood.

‘There might be some buxom young farmers’ daughters down there,’ said Rham Jas with a chuckle.

‘You’re not that charming, Rham Jas.’

They both laughed at that.

‘Where do we go from here?’ asked Glenwood, as the trail grew steeper. ‘From Haran, I mean. Assuming you kill Shilpa with your customary style and grace.’

‘Well, we’ll need to tell the duke that his city’s free... assuming he doesn’t kill us on sight... and then it’s off to Ro Weir.’ The Kirin was grinning broadly as he spoke.

‘And that Saara woman, yes?’

‘That’s the idea,’ replied the assassin. ‘If all goes well, you should be back in Ro Tiris and plying your nefarious trade within a couple of months.’ He patted his companion on the back in comradely fashion. ‘It’s okay, Kale, no need to thank me.’

‘Fuck you, Rham Jas,’ responded Glenwood, with an ironic smile.

‘Aren’t you sweet?’

They rode for a while until the ground levelled out and the wind dropped away completely. Some way to the north, across the rugged plains, Glenwood could see riders heading away from them at a trot. Otherwise the two men were alone in the duchy of Haran.

‘See those riders?’ asked Rham Jas, pointing. ‘We’ve been spotted.’

‘Who are they? Friend or foe?’

‘They look like Hawks to me.’

The assassin raised his head as if he’d caught a scent on the wind. ‘I think we’ll know in a minute.’ He gestured to the south. Glenwood turned, just as six more riders emerged from a rocky outcropping.

As the riders approached, Glenwood was relieved to see their weapons were sheathed, though all were dressed in full battle armour. Rham Jas pulled back on his reins and wheeled his horse to a halt on the gravel path. Glenwood followed suit and the two men waited for the news or, more likely, confrontation the riders would bring.

All six wore the heraldry of Duke Alexander, a tabard bearing a red hawk volant, and well-maintained chain mail underneath. They wore short swords and rectangular shields, and the hard expressions of professional soldiers. Their faces suggested they had seen neither a bath nor a bed in some time.

‘The road is closed, friend,’ announced the lead rider.

Nudging his horse forward, Rham Jas held his empty hands wide. Glenwood followed. Their leader was a man of Haran of middle age and the chevrons on his shoulder suggested an officer’s rank.

‘We have business in Ro Haran, captain,’ said Rham Jas, showing more knowledge of the Ro military than his companion would have credited.

‘Not today you don’t, Kirin... any business you have can wait until the city is open to travellers. No exceptions,’ replied the soldier.

The assassin nodded and glanced to where the other riders had disappeared northwards. ‘You are the duke’s men?’

A chuckle erupted from some of the Hawks, though the captain looked unimpressed. ‘We are Hawks of Ro, Kirin,’ he replied scornfully.

‘I know that,’ said Rham Jas. ‘What I mean to ask is, are you still the duke’s men or do you follow... a new mistress?’

Worryingly, Glenwood noticed the Kirin’s hand rest casually on the hilt of his katana. Well, if Rham Jas intended to fight half a dozen men of Haran, he was welcome to do so... without Glenwood’s aid.

‘We follow General Alexander Tiris,’ replied the captain. ‘The Karesian witch holds no sway over us.’

At the mention of the enchantress, the faces of the Hawks became ominous.

‘That’s good, then,’ said Rham Jas, with a disconcertingly friendly grin. ‘Would it be possible for us to have a little chat with your general?’

The captain frowned. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I’m here to kill your witch,’ replied the assassin cheerfully. ‘It’s only polite to let the duke know that he’ll soon be able to return to his city.’

The Hawks were silent. The captain nudged his horse forward until he was as close to Rham Jas as their horses would allow. Glenwood felt the Hawk assessing the Kirin, taking particular note of his katana.

‘I’m Captain Brenan of the Walls,’ he said. ‘What is your name, Kirin?’

‘I’m Rham Jas Rami, friend to Lord Bromvy of Canarn and enemy to the Seven Sisters.’ He wasn’t grinning now and Glenwood caught a rare note of seriousness in his voice.

Brenan nodded slowly. ‘Bromvy’s a Black Guard and you’re wanted by the Crown,’ said the captain. ‘They say you killed an enchantress in Tiris in front of a hundred armed men.’

Glenwood coughed. ‘Probably a few more than that, but most of them weren’t armed.’

‘And who are you?’ asked Brenan, turning to face him.

‘Me? No one really, just a loyal companion... well, a companion. My name is Glenwood. I’m mostly just here for the scenery.’

A few of the Hawks chuckled, but the captain shook his head and returned his attention to the assassin.

‘Well, maybe you and your pet here,’ he gestured at Glenwood, ‘should come and meet the general.’

The Kirin’s grin returned. ‘Excellent. Just one thing, though, what do we call him?’ He pouted and there was a note of cheek in his voice. ‘You Ro are obsessed with titles and your general seems to have more than most people. What is he, duke, prince, general, what?’

Captain Brenan smiled wryly. He seemed not overly impressed with Rham Jas. Glenwood thought his men looked even less impressed by the slight against their general.

‘You can call him whatever you like, but he’ll likely kill you if you piss him off,’ replied the captain. ‘So be on your best behaviour.’

Rham Jas smirked as though he were about to say something caustic. Thankfully, after a moment’s thought, he merely nodded.

Brenan motioned them to follow, wheeling his horse off the path and towards the north. The others paused until Glenwood and Rham Jas had nudged their mounts after the captain, and then closed in formation behind. They broke into a gentle trot, travelling smoothly on to the lowlands of Haran.

‘No matter what soldier-boy says, I’m not your fucking pet, okay?’ whispered Glenwood.

‘I actually liked the sound of loyal companion,’ replied Rham Jas, with a smug grin. Glenwood felt like punching him.

* * *

It was several hours before they saw signs of life, albeit just abandoned fishing huts on the banks of the Red River. Captain Brenan said something about it being too cold for the trout this far inland. It was odd that a captain would trouble himself with such a mundane fact. The other Hawks, once they had become accustomed to their new travelling companions, filled the journey with equally trivial matters of weather, hunting and the seasons. By the time they reached a wooden watchtower that marked the edge of the duke’s lands, Glenwood knew more than he wanted to about the winter migration of the local cattle and the hardy men who herded them.

For a man who had spent little time outside the city, he felt he was becoming strangely accustomed to this rough life. Since he and Rham Jas had left Ro Tiris, what seemed like a hundred years ago, he had not slept in a bed for more than a night at a time. As they had traversed the wilds of Tor Funweir he’d even learned how to light a campfire and to skin a rabbit. He still left the business of catching and preparing Gorlan to his less squeamish companion, but he shared all the other duties.

He hoped they wouldn’t be required to spend a night in the company of Captain Brenan and his soldiers. But Rham Jas believed they’d sight the general’s camp well before nightfall.

‘What are you going to say to the duke?’ asked Glenwood, as they rode through a wooded gully. ‘He’s a Tiris, they’re not known for being nice to Kirin... or any common folk.’

‘Just tell him you’re a noble from Leith. I’m sure he’ll be impressed,’ replied Rham Jas with a smirk.

‘I’m serious, you contrary bastard. He’s a duke, or a general or whatever... and you’re a Kirin scumbag. You don’t have much in common.’

‘I can kill the Karesian bitch. He’ll be interested in that before he thinks to question my birth,’ replied the assassin. ‘Well, I might need to drop Brom’s name a few times.’

Glenwood didn’t really understand the Kirin’s association with the lord of Canarn. ‘Isn’t he a traitor to the Crown?’

‘A quality that may well be appreciated by the Red Prince,’ said Rham Jas, with a reassuring grin. It was one of his rarer grins, and Glenwood wasn’t entirely sure he trusted it.

‘I’ll let you do the talking.’

He wanted a bed, a drink and a warm woman. What he didn’t want were any more complications in his life.

‘Well, you’d better keep your mouth shut, then, because I think we’re here,’ said the assassin, pointing over the plain.

Just coming into view on the horizon, casting shadows as dusk descended on the duchy of Haran, was a large military encampment. Set back, next to a line of low caves and flanked by several newly built watchtowers, was the pennant of Lord Alexander Tiris. The Hawks of Ro had set the rest of their tents and fortifications in organized lines.

‘There’s a shit-load of them. What if they just arrest us and we end up in the stocks?’ Glenwood asked, instinctively nervous around so many soldiers.

‘They’ll never take us alive,’ replied Rham Jas with a mocking sneer. ‘Just relax, we’ll be fine.’

The forger was not reassured. ‘Relax, the man says.’ His words were directed skywards, to whichever god was listening.

Captain Brenan led them towards the centre of the camp. As they passed the first watchtower, a small town of tents spread out in front of them and a hundred grim faces turned to observe the two outsiders. These were not clerics or watchmen, but professional soldiers, loyal to Haran and their general. The Hawks of Ro were spoken of with the same respect as the knights of the Red. Indeed, their prowess was said to match the warriors of the One.

‘They look pretty tough,’ he whispered.

‘In the long run, that’s probably a good thing,’ replied Rham Jas, grinning confidently at any Hawk who met his stare.

A bell rang insistently as the small group rode through the camp. Glenwood nervously watched dozens of soldiers emerge from their tents and come to attention as they passed. At the edge of the camp, nestled against the sheer cliff face, was a small hexagonal command pavilion flanked by the hawk banners of Haran.

‘Watch your manners, Kirin,’ said Captain Brenan as three figures emerged.

No ceremony or guardsmen accompanied Alexander Tiris. Of his two companions, one was a woman and the other a corpulent older man wearing the robes of the Blue church. Glenwood’s first impression of the general was of his shaved head, focused dark eyes and simple steel armour with numerous minor alterations and repairs – chosen for efficiency rather than style. He was tall and cut an impressive figure, though his manner was relaxed. Glenwood had never seen the king but had been told that he bore some resemblance to a sweaty goat. If this were true, the Red Prince of Haran did not look like his brother.