The Red Knight (3 page)

Alyda wheeled her mount. A Suvi in a swan-crested helm plunged from the melee and charged her. She smiled and drew back her sword. When Swan Helm was a stride away, Alyda nudged Lyco sideways and swung her blade at the knight’s head. The speed of his charge doubled the power of the blow. His visor creased beneath her blade, his head snapped back, but he didn’t fall. Cursing, she snatched his horse’s reins and dragged its head round before hitting him again. Her sword rang against his helm. He swayed, but somehow the bastard managed to stay in the saddle. Infuriated by his stubbornness, Alyda dropped the reins, grabbed a wing of the gilt swan on his helm, and yanked the flailing knight towards her. He thrust out blindly, but only succeeded in slicing his horse across the withers. The animal screamed. Alyda wrapped her arm around the knight’s neck and smashed him in the head with the pommel of her sword until blood ran through the breathes of his crumpled helm. When she let him go he slid from the saddle like a boned fish.

Before she had chance to catch her breath, an axe winged out of the chaos and ripped her sword from her hand, narrowly missing taking her fingers off. Alyda felt a flutter of panic. She ignored it, and looked for her attacker
. There.
The Axe thrower was wearing a garish yellow surcoat, patterned with black chevrons. She flicked Alyda a curt salute and drew her side sword before spurring her horse at Alyda. She looked like a wasp; coming in sword raised, ready to deliver a fatal sting. Alyda didn’t panic; this wasn’t the first time she’d lost her sword during a battle. As the Wasp Knight roared towards her, Alyda reached down and grabbed her right spur.

Trease had taught her the words of command the day she’d been awarded the Fey prize. It had taken her several attempts to master the subtle inflections of the alien tongue, but she now spoke them fluidly in her mind and as she did, the spur changed.

A shiver ran down her spine as the metal flowed over her mailed fist like honey and encased her gauntlet in shimmering silver. The Wasp Knight hammered a blow towards Alyda’s head. She raised her hand, and a long slender blade extended from the living metal.

Their weapons met with a resounding
clang.
Fey
silver locked against mortal-forged steel. The shock of the impact numbed her fingers and spiralled up Alyda’s arm. She would have dropped her sword, but the hilt
of the eldritch weapon had melded around her gauntlet as though blade and hand were one. Alyda’s attacker recoiled as though
she’d
been stung. Sensing its rider’s surprise, the Wasp’s horse leapt away from Lyco. The Suvi took one last look at Alyda, and spurred her mount into the roiling mass.

Alyda might well have done the same if someone she was fighting suddenly produced a Fey sword. But then, she wouldn’t have missed with the axe in the first place.

She touched the Fey blade to her heel and willed it to be a spur once again. When that was done, she quickly dismounted and scooped up her sword. The moment her arse was back in the saddle something bright flashed towards her face. She raised her arm instinctively, and blocked a spear that was aiming for her visor. The leaf-shaped blade screamed across her vambrace, adding another scar to the metal before it snagged in the mail voider that protected her armpit. Her assailant gave a hollow roar, and tried to drive the spear into her chest. As she fought to stay in the saddle, Alyda could feel the riveted links of mail splitting under the pressure. She grabbed the spear shaft, and guiding Lyco with her legs, turned him to face the Suvian. The spear broke through the mail, and sliced through her arming jack. The blade slid against her side. She sucked in a sharp breath as pain scorched a burning trail across her ribcage. Swearing, she dug her heels into Lyco’s flanks and he kicked out at her attacker’s mount. The horse shied, the spear withdrew, cutting her again.

Rage lent her strength, and she yanked the spear towards her, dragging the Suvian half out of the saddle. Before he realised what she was doing, Alyda hacked at his outstretched arm and struck him on the elbow. There was a loud crack. The knight howled and dropped the spear. Alyda jabbed him in the throat with the butt of his own weapon. She was about to sheath her sword in his neck when the call to disengage sounded across the battlefield. Discipline won out over anger. She pulled the blow and waited to see if he would withdraw or stand.

Cradling his injured arm, the Suvian bowed. Alyda felt a stab of disappointment, but raised her sword in salute and let him go. As he wearily coaxed his mount back to his lines, she made a note to remember the snarling boar on his helm and shield, just in case their paths should ever cross again.

General Trevisa and his honour guard picked their way across the bloody field to where Alyda, Vorbek and Trenham were waiting. Like most stallions, Lyco was not a docile beast, but today had been tough even for him. He stood quietly, veins bulging, lathered in sweat, as exhausted as his rider. Alyda loved her horse, but wished she didn’t have to fight two battles in one day to make the angry bastard behave.

Trenham pulled off his mail coif and emptied a canteen over his head. The water ran gold through his copper curls. Alyda’s mouth watered. She ached to shed her steel skin, and drown herself in a barrel of ale, but this wasn’t over until Trevisa surrendered. Seeing Trenham and the Irregulars take their ease was an exquisite torture. Her side ached, her throat was raw, and sweat was pouring down her back. Much longer out here beneath the harsh Suvian sun and she was sure she’d cook in her own juices like a clay-baked hedgehog. Vorbek offered her a wineskin. She shook her head.
Soon.
Behind her, the Company battle standard fluttered in the languid breeze. When she moved, her side burned, but the pain was useful, it kept her sharp and angry; ready to fight again if the Fox decided to retire sword in hand. After all the trouble he’d caused her, she almost wished he would.

The Hammer formed up beside the Anvil; Trenham’s mercenaries lounged under the trees. She did a quick head count and was relieved to find that the Hammer had taken relatively few losses. She was damn proud of her knights; they were battle worn and weary, their scarlet surcoats rent and stained, but when she caught the eye of any one of them, she was met with a look of cool determination.
Hard as iron, cold as stone
. That was the Company motto, the creed they lived and died by.
Just as it should be.

“Ay up, Shorty,” Vorbek rumbled. “He’s here.”

General Trevisa reined in his mount about thirty feet away from them. He was flanked by two weary officers, one of whom carried Trevisa’s magnificent standard. Alyda had chased the old bastard halfway across Suvia in the past month, but this was the first time she’d seen him at close quarters. He was older than she’d imagined, but sat poker straight in the saddle, a knife bright gleam in his eye. After a brief discussion with his officers, Trevisa sent his herald over.

“Who will speak on behalf of this force?” the herald asked. He looked expectantly at Vorbek.

“I will.” Alyda nudged Lyco forward. “I’m Captain Alyda Stenna, of the First Company of the Antian Royal Guards.”

The herald gave her a disdainful look which, purely by coincidence, was when Lyco decided he didn’t like the herald’s horse and lunged at it, teeth bared. Alyda pulled him up, and tried not to smile as the Suvian’s horse shied. Trevisa shook his head and urged his horse forward while his herald fought to control his jittery mount. The Fox looked exhausted, as though the weight of the world rested on his thin shoulders. The old man’s face was etched with deep lines, his grey brows were knitted in a deep, permanent frown. He bowed stiffly to Alyda. She raised her sword, but didn’t bow.

“My la…
Captain.
I would with your permission, withdraw from the field, undertaking upon my honour not to bear arms against your noble companies for the remainder of this conflict.”

No surprise they’re always fighting if they treat war like a fucking game.
She fixed him with a steady gaze. “General, there are only two ways you may leave the field today: dead or surrendered.”

Trevisa spluttered, and slapped the pommel of his saddle. “Madame! Do you doubt my word, my honour?”

Vorbek and Trenham sniggered behind her, she ignored them. “I know nothing of either, General, but I do know that you’re beaten, and must either lay down your arms, or lay on. The choice is yours…for now.”

Patience had never been one of Alyda’s virtues, and it was particularly lacking after a day like today. Her orders from Ranulfi had been simple; stop Trevisa. She would have preferred not to send the Company in again, but she was more than willing to do so if he wouldn’t yield, and gods help him if he forced her to it.

“This is not how civilised people behave! This is not how we conduct war!” Trevisa snarled.

Alyda smiled. “It is now.”

“I warn you, Captain Stenna, your vile practices have not gone unnoticed. You have few friends in Suvia, and would be wise not to make an enemy of me.”

Either he was talking out of his arse or he knew something she didn’t. “I confess, you have me foxed, sir.”

Trevisa seemed to momentarily forget that he needed to open his mouth in order to speak. When he remembered, the words, “Heathen magic!” exploded forth. “Do not try to deny that you are a
witch,”
he hissed. At the mention of the word ‘witch’ his herald touched a blue bead that was dangling from a chain on his wrist. Alyda recognised the Suvi charm to ward off evil. If people weren’t still dying all around them it would be funny.

“If I was a witch d’you think we’d be having this conversation? Don’t you think I would have turned you into a frog by now and then fucked off home?”

“Have a care woman!
You are known
. The Brotherhood of the Redemption is seeking you.”

“They found me, this morning. It did not go well for them.”

Trevisa gasped. “What have you done? They are a holy order, blessed by the Eklesiasti himself.”

“Then rejoice, for they have gone to their gods.”

“Your wickedness is breathtaking! Be advised; although you have the advantage now, Captain Stenna, the tide can turn and…” The colour drained from Trevisa’s face.

“My son?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Fought well and died bravely,” she lied. She could have crushed him with the truth, but unlike his son, the Beast of Levray, she wasn’t cruel. She wouldn’t tell Trevisa that his first-born had died a slow, painful death in a pool of his own shit and guts. It had not been a good death, but one that he richly deserved.

“So, that’s where you were this morning. Defiling a holy order, and murdering my son.” Trevisa trembled with the effort of trying to master his emotions. “If you were a man I’d call you out for what you have done, Captain Stenna.”

He was starting to annoy her now. “Man or woman, your challenge would be refused. There’s no honour to be gained fighting an old man.”

“How dare you!” he hissed.

She swept her arm in a wide arc taking in the scope of the carnage. “Because it is
your
dead who litter the field, General, not mine!”

Stung, Trevisa scanned the battlefield as though seeing it for the first time. His eyes blurred with tears. Blood drenched the lavender, staining the purple crimson. The flower of Suvian knighthood lay broken in graceless death. The cries of the wounded and the dying accompanied the eager screams of the vultures gathering for the feast. Without saying a word, Trevisa unsheathed his sword and tossed it on the ground. He then snatched his standard from the herald and handed it to Vorbek. Alyda patted Lyco’s neck. Now it was over.

“It is done, and the Fox has tasted defeat for the first time; goddess be praised,” said the Countess.

Jamie had watched her quaff about a pint of wine, but rather than being in her cups she seemed more alert than he’d ever seen her.

“I had no idea you’d find the battle so interesting, Countess.”

A tiny stitch of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “No, of course you didn’t, Jamie dear. You weren’t supposed to.”

Until that moment he hadn’t noticed what a penetrating gaze she had, or how uncomfortable it felt to be the focus of it. On the battlefield, Trevisa’s soldiers were throwing down their arms.

“It isn’t entirely work,” she said, “not this time. This time my reasons are personal.”

She patted the seat next to her. Jamie accepted the invitation, grateful to rest his swollen ankle, although he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about.

“Many years ago, when I was an innocent girl—” She laughed. “I assure you there
was
such a time—I had a lover. He was a poor knight, the third son of a third son, but a finer, more gallant heart you could not hope to find.” She turned the stem of her glass, and stared into the crimson depth with such intensity, Jamie thought the crystal might shatter. “You remind me of him. Not your fiery locks—his hair was as black as my heart, and he didn’t have freckles.” She chuckled. “No, ‘tis more…
how
you are, both an innocent, and a warrior. ‘Tis a rare combination, my dear and trust me, I’ve seen them all.”