David Gemmell - Knights of Dark Renown

‘I am sure that he will, my Lord.’

As he spoke, the Crimson Knight came into view at the top of the staircase. He was still in full armour, but had removed his helm. His face was ivory pale and extraordinarily beautiful, his hair white and cropped close to his skull. He seemed in his early twenties. Errin moved forward, greeting him with a smile. Seen closer he looked older — perhaps thirty, perhaps more. The Knight bowed; his eyes were dark and bloodshot and he seemed weary beyond words.

‘Are you well, sir?’ Errin asked.

‘Well enough, Lord Errin.’

‘Your armour will wear you down. Tonight is a time for feasting and dancing.’

‘I do not dance. I am here to inspect the Duchy on behalf of the King. Dancing I leave to others. But do not concern yourself about my armour; it never leaves me. That is part of an oath I have sworn.’

‘I see,’ said Errin. ‘Tell me your name, sir, so that we may introduce you?’

The Knight hesitated for a moment, then responded with a swift, almost shy, smile. ‘My name is… Cairbre.’

Errin, resplendent in hose and doublet of blue silk shot with silver, sat at the Duke’s left hand during the Feast of Welcome, the Red Knight taking his place on the Duke’s right. There were some thirty of the Duke’s retainers present at the great square table, nobles all, from minor gentlemen of the Duchy to Knights of the Order. Errin had surpassed himself and the food, as all agreed, was exquisite: giant mushrooms, filled with minced beef and coated with Northern Duchy cheese; ten roast swans; honeyed ham, spiced beef and cakek of surpassing sweetness. But Errin noticed that the Knight scarcely touched his food, and asked for water to replace the wine he was served.

The Duke grew more ill at ease during the feast and was unable to draw his guest into any lengthy conversation. Finally he gave up altogether and turned his attention to Errin.

‘Splendidly organized! Fit for a king,’ said the Duke, wiping sweat from his brow with a scented handkerchief.

‘I can assure you that the King’s feast will be even finer, my lord. In the spring there will be many other delights which, sadly, the autumn denies us.’

As the slaves cleared away the dishes, Errin clapped his hands and rose.

The guests fell silent. ‘Friends, the Duke hopes you have enjoyed the meal, and now asks that you make your way to the Narrow Hall where musicians are waiting for the dances to begin.’

As the guests filed away a flute began to play in the Narrow Hall, joined by a harp. The sound was lilting and light, and the Duke’s mood changed.

‘By heavens, Errin, is that Corius playing?’

‘It is, my Lord. I took the liberty of requesting his presence for the evening.’

‘The man charges a fortune!’

‘I hope you will accept his performance as a gift, sir.’

The Duke bowed his head. ‘You have outdone yourself. Well done!’ Turning to the Red Knight, he said, ‘I overheard you tell Errin you did not dance. Would you prefer to retire?’

‘I will watch the dancing,’ said the Knight, rising. Errin followed him into the hall, where many couples were now engaged in the Dance of the Winter Sun. The music was merry and Errin saw Dianu dancing with the young knight, Goan. Her dark hair was bound with silver thread and she wore a dress of shimmering white silk.

‘I think,’ said the Knight, ‘that you would prefer to dance rather than to stand with such a sombre guest.’ The ghost of a smile touched his lips as he spoke.

Errin grinned. ‘That is the woman I hope to marry.’

‘Then lead her to the music, sir.’

Errin needed no second invitation. Moving smoothly across the hall to the dancers, he tapped Goan on the shoulder. ‘Goan, my dear fellow, would you introduce the King’s messenger to the other guests?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ Errin took Dianu’s arm and led her into the dance. When the music stopped he took her to the rear of the hall, where slaves were stationed carrying silver trays on which were goblets of light, white wine. Errin took one and passed it to his companion.

‘You are looking exceedingly beautiful this evening,’ he told her.

‘I only came because you asked me,’ said Dianu. ‘What do you know of that strange young man with the white hair?’

‘His name is Cairbre. I know nothing of him, save that he is the King’s messenger.’

‘His face is very sad.’

‘These are sad times,’ he whispered. ‘Come, let us seek some air.’

They left unnoticed through a side door and mounted the steps to a small chamber, where Errin had ordered a fire lit. The room was warm, the window open. Dianu wandered to it, staring out over the town of Mactha and its twinkling lights.

‘I am leaving for Cithaeron,’ she said.

‘Leaving? But why?’

She turned suddenly. ‘Oh, Errin, don’t be such a fool! The King is murdering Nomads, the kingdom is falling ever more deeply in debt. Every day there are stories of unrest, of murder and robbery. Where will it end?’

He moved to her and led her from the window. ‘Best not to speak of such things where you can be overheard,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘But Furbolg is a long way away, and in Mactha we do not suffer.’

‘We do not suffer. But there are food shortages in the countryside — and winter is not yet here. It is all right for the nobility, with its roast swans. But swans will not feed a nation, Errin.’

‘I had hoped we could be married at Midwinter,’ he said. ‘Are you saying the marriage will not take place?’

She took his hand and kissed it. ‘Of course I am not saying that. I love you. But we could be married in Cithaeron?’

Errin shook his head. ‘You cannot leave without the King’s blessing,’ he said, ‘and he will not give it. The Duke was telling me that seven noble families have secretly left the realm, taking their riches with them. They have been branded traitors and their lands forfeited. This is your home, Dianu. Do you want to live the rest of your life in a foreign land, hated and despised by your countrymen?’

‘You do not see as I see,’ she answered sadly. ‘There is evil here, Errin. Real, terrible evil, waiting to engulf all of us. The King is mad and surrounded by madmen. Did the death of Kester not trouble you? A fine man. A noble man. Put to death for having a Nomad grandmother? Sweet Heaven, Errin! Why do you not see?’

Pulling her to him, he kissed her face. ‘I do see,’ he told her. ‘These are dangerous times. But they will pass… we can ride out the storm.’

She pushed him from her. ‘It is not enough to ride out the storm. I am leaving here in two days; all the arrangements are made. My father, rest his soul, had many contacts in Cithaeron and I have transferred funds through the merchant, Cartain. All that is left here is the palace — and I can live without that.’

‘All that is left here?’ he said softly. ‘You will leave me here, Dianu… and I cannot leave.’

For a long moment she looked into his eyes, saying nothing.

‘It is your choice,’ she said at last.

‘I know that,’ he answered, backing away. ‘May fortune follow you.’

He turned swiftly, opened the door and made his way to the Narrow Hall. The music was faster now, punctuated by the laughter of the dancers as they swept into the furious pace of the Dance of the Storm. Unnoticed, Errin passed through the double doors and out into the night.

Arian ran smoothly up the game trail — her stride long, her footing sure. Every evening the deer travelled this trail, but these she never hunted for they were too close to the settlement. As her father had warned her during her training, ‘When you are fit and strong, hunt far from home. You never know when disaster may strike — a sudden blizzard, or a lame leg — and you may come to need the meat you allowed to live. But hunt within sight of the settlement and you will drive the game far from you.’