The Red Knight

Harmodius had no idea what he had done, but he was an empirical magus and so he reached for more power, drew it from its source like a man trying to haul in a great ocean fish with a light rod, and then pumped it through his hands into the swaths of burned flesh . . .

. . . and they healed.

A section of the knight’s neck the size of the palm of a hand closed over and healed.

He reached for more power, seized it, struggled with the source and overcame it by main force of will, and then hauled with all his trained might, ripping the green power into his soul and then passing it down his hands into the knight, whose eyes suddenly opened with a great cry.

Harmodius stumbled back.

The screams from the woodlands stopped.

‘Why did you kill me?’ the young knight asked plaintively. ‘I was so beautiful!’

He slumped and his eyes closed.

Harmodius reached out and touched him. He was asleep, and the skin on his neck, chest, back, and shoulders was flaking away, the blackness and scabs simply falling away from the new flesh underneath.

New, pale flesh.

With scales.

Harmodius flinched, trying to understand what he had done.

Lissen Carak – The Red Knight

The captain woke still tired. He got up, called for Toby, and stumbled to his wash basin.

Toby came in, chewing on a biscuit, and began to lay out his clothes. He moved warily, and the captain assumed from his averted head that something was wrong. Whatever it was, the captain would have to work it out for himself.

‘What news, Toby?’ the captain asked.

‘Boglins in the fields,’ the boy said, and went back to chewing.

‘Where’s Michael?’ the captain asked, when no one came to help him point his hose.

Toby looked away. ‘At chapel, I reckon.’

‘Only if Jesu came and visited Michael in person in the night,’ the captain said. Mornings made him nasty. Toby wasn’t to blame, but the boy idolized the squire and he wasn’t going to rat him out.

The captain pointed his own hose, and took an old arming doublet and began to lace it up. He didn’t call for Michael until he was ready to lace the cuffs. When the young man still wasn’t there, he nodded to Toby. ‘I’m going to go find him,’ he said.

Toby looked terrified. ‘I’ll go, master!’

The captain felt annoyed. ‘We can go together,’ he said, and his long legs took him out of the solar and down the hall to the Commandery where Michael slept.

Toby tried to beat him to the door, but a combination of shorter legs and deference kept him a stride behind.

The captain flung the heavy oak door open.

Michael leaped from his bedroll, a long dagger in his right fist. He was naked. So was the beautiful young girl he put behind him.

‘Michael?’ the captain said to the dagger.

Michael blushed. The blush started just above his groin, ran in splotches over his chest and up his neck to his face. ‘Oh my God – my lord, I’m so sorry-’

The captain looked at the girl. Her blush was even brighter.

‘That’s my laundry maid, I believe,’ he said. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps maid is the wrong word, given the circumstances.’

She hid her head.

‘Get dressed. Michael. It’s full light, and when that poor young woman walks down the steps to the courtyard, every person in the fortress will know where she’s been; either with you, with me, or with Toby. Perhaps with all three. Toby at least has the virtue of being her own age.’

Michael was trying to put his dagger away.

‘I love her!’ he said hotly.

‘Wonderful. That love is about to bring down a mountain of consequences that may end in your no longer being in my employ.’ The captain was angry.

‘At least she’s not a nun!’ Michael said.

That stopped the captain. And filled him with black rage; in a moment, he went from a distant, weary amusement to the flat desire to kill. He was struggling not to draw a weapon. Or use his fists. Or his power.

Michael took a step back and Toby placed himself between the captain and the squire.

Heavy, strong arms suddenly encircled the captain from behind. He thrashed, angry beyond sense, but he couldn’t break the grip. He tried to plant his feet and headbutt his adversary, but the man lifted him straight off the floor.

‘Whoa!’ said Bad Tom. ‘Whoa there!’

‘His eyes are glowing!’ Michael said, and his voice was trembling, Kaitlin Lanthorn cowering in the corner.

Tom spun the captain and slapped him clear across the face.

There was a pause. The captain’s power hung in the air – palpable even to non-talents. Kaitlin Lanthorn saw it as a cloud of golden green around his head.

‘Let go of me, Tom,’ said the captain.

Tom put his feet on the ground. ‘What was that about?’

‘My idiot squire deflowered a local virgin, for sport.’ The captain took a deep breath.

‘I love her!’ Michael shouted. Fear made his voice high and whiney.

‘Like enough,’ Tom said. ‘I love all the women I fuck, too.’ He grinned. ‘She’s just one of the Lanthorn sluts. No damage done.’

Kaitlin burst into tears.

The captain shook his head. ‘The Abbess-’ he began.