Miles Cameron - The Red Knight

The captain watched it go by.

Ser Alcaeus rode by his side. ‘There were men and women in these farms when I came through in late winter.’

The captain shook his head. ‘I wonder if men will ever farm here again,’ he said.

Two days north of Albinkirk, they came to the crossroads and made camp. The East Road ran up over the passes and down into the Vale of Delf, and on into the Morea.

The North Road ran into the Hills, past the Inn of Dorling and eventually to the Lakes and the Wall.

That night, over dinner in his tent, the captain put a map on the table. ‘Jehannes, you’ll take the company east to Morea. Find us a secure camp. I’ll join you in a ten-day.’

Jehannes made a face. He looked at Tom Lachlan. ‘If this is so important, why don’t we all go?’

Tom laughed. ‘We’re going to see the Wyrm, Jehannes. Not pay a call on a lady, nor smoke out a company of brigands.’

The captain leaned over the table. ‘The Wyrm is a creature of the Wild. A Power like Thorn. And the company won’t impress it. Him.’

Not like Thorn , Harmodius said in the captain’s head.

Jehannes shook his head. ‘I mislike it.’

‘Reservation noted,’ the captain said.

Tom sat back, his booted feet on one of the captain’s stools. ‘Ahh. I can smell the hills already.’

Ranald nodded. ‘At some point,’ he said, ‘we need to talk about the drove.’

Tom nodded.

The captain looked at Ser Alcaeus. ‘We won’t be gone long,’ he said. ‘And Jehannes can deal with any emergency.’

The Morean knight raised an eyebrow. ‘I never thought otherwise, messire,’ he said. ‘But I will be with you.’

Ranald shook his head. ‘No offence. But why?’

The Morean shrugged. Twirled his moustaches. ‘It is a Deed,’ he said. ‘I wish to see a dragon.’

The captain smiled.

When the company’s wagons rolled, the captain sat his elegant riding horse under the shade of a great oak tree and watched them go by. Men saluted him. It made him want to cry.

There was Bent, riding with Long Paw; behind him rode No Head and Jack Kaves and Cuddy. They were laughing as they passed, but they all gave him a smile and a nod. Behind them were younger men – Tippit arguing with Ben Carter and Kanny about something. They stopped when they saw him, and saluted – Ben Carter drew his sword to salute, and then looked sheepish about it.

Dan Favor rode by with Ser Milus and Francis Atcourt, who was explaining a jousting technique using a walking-stick tucked under his arm.

And more, and more. Men-at-arms, valets, squires, archers. Wagoners and tailors, prostitutes and seamstresses.

Sauce – Ser Alison Graves, now – made her horse rear a little, and flicked him a showy salute. And near the back of the column, Mag the seamstress hugged her man and rode her donkey clear of the column’s dust to join the captain. ‘If it please m’lord,’ she said.

‘Your downcast eyes are wasted on me,’ he said.

‘I would like to accompany you,’ she said.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘A few days of sleeping on the ground and bad food?’

In his mind Harmodius said, Excellent .

So when the column was gone, headed up the long ridge to the east, Ranald turned his horse’s head north. ‘I don’t know where you are sleeping tonight, Captain,’ he said. ‘But I’m for the Inn of Dorling.’ To Mag, he said, ‘It’s a little more comfortable than the cold, hard ground.’

The Inn of Dorling – The Red Knight

The Keeper came into the yard with eyes as wide as new-minted pennies. His people were on the walls, and the gate was open to receive them.

His eyes went right past Ranald – wearing armour like a knight, and a red tabard. He nodded to the captain. ‘You are welcome here, messire. The best of everything, the most reasonable prices.’

‘Don’t you know your own kin?’ Ranald drawled.

Tom kicked free of his stirrups and dismounted in a clash of plate and mail. ‘I hear my brother married your Sarah,’ he said.

The Keeper looked back and forth. ‘By God!’ he said.

Tom took him in a bear hug.

‘We all thought you were dead,’ said the Keeper.

Tom growled. ‘Not yet, ye bastard.’

He looked past the Keeper at the young woman on the porch. ‘Hello, spark. You’ll be Sarah. Last I saw you, you was smaller than a pig.’

‘Now I’m big enough to carry your brother’s seed,’ she said.

He left the Keeper’s embrace and gave her a hug.

The captain hadn’t seen Bad Tom as a man who embraced people. It shook him a little.

‘Hillmen,’ Ser Alcaeus said. ‘I’m quite fond of them.’

‘Your sound like you are talking about dogs,’ Mag said.

Alcaeus snorted. ‘Touché, madame. But they are more like us than you Albans. They burn hot.’

Ranald dismounted and kissed Sarah first. Then hugged the Keeper. He went to his malle, slung across the back of his horse, and took out a slim leather envelope, the size of a letter.

He tossed it to the Keeper.

The Keeper looked at it, frowning.

‘Six hundred silver leopards,’ Ranald said. ‘In a note of hand on a bank in Etrusca. That’s yours. And another twelve hundred for Sarah.’ He gave the girl a lop-sided grin. ‘I sold the herd.’

She clapped her hands together.

Men in the courtyard grinned. There were two dozen hillmen – local herdsmen, small farmers, and the like – and every one of them knew in that instant that his money wasn’t lost.

They grinned. Embraced. Gathered round Ranald and slapped his back, shook his hand.

The Red Knight laughed, to find himself so far from the centre of attention.

But the Keeper disentangled himself from the celebrations shaping in his courtyard and came forward. ‘I’m the Keeper,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing you’re the Red Knight.’

The captain nodded. ‘Men call me the captain,’ he said. ‘Friends do, anyway.’

The Keeper nodded. ‘Ay – Red Knight’s a heavy handle to carry and no mistake. Come off your horses, now, and my people will see to you. Leave your cares here, and come and be easy.’

Easy it was. The captain shucked off his riding armour and left it in a heap for Toby and went down the steps to the common room, where he found his brother and Ser Alcaeus sampling the ale.

Mag came and sat by herself, but the captain wasn’t having any of it. He walked to her table, and offered his hand. ‘Ma dame,’ he said. ‘Come and sit with us.’

‘Mag the seamstress with three belted knights?’ she asked. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes, but the words seemed sincere.

‘Play piquet, mistress?’ asked Gawin.

She let her eyes drop. ‘I know the rules,’ she said, ill-at-ease.

‘We’ll play for small stakes,’ Ser Gawin said.

‘Couldn’t we play for love?’ she asked.

Gawin gave her an odd look. ‘I haven’t felt cards in my hands for a month,’ he said. ‘They need a little fire.’

Mag looked down. ‘If he takes all my money-’

‘Then I’ll order a dozen more of your caps,’ the captain said.

Looking at the seamstress, the captain smiled inwardly. How powerful is she, Magus?

Hard to say, young man. Untrained talent. She had to learn everything for herself, from first principles.

Ah.

Possibly the greatest of us all, though. She was never trained. She has no chains.

The captain sat watching Gawin deal the cards. Something about the hawkish expression on Mag’s face gave her away.

But a very limited repertoire . . .

Harmodius spluttered in the captain’s palace. Drink some wine, so I can taste it. She may have had a limited grimmoire, but not any more – eh, young man? She has your phantasms, and mine, and all of the Abbess’s. And Amicia’s. too