The Red Knight

‘Not for his ears – hear me? Men talk. Sometimes with their bodies, sometimes like old fishwives. Not his business.’ He looked at Michael, who was not quite cowering in the doorframe.

But Michael was afraid, yes, but also determined. ‘I’m his squire.’

Tom rubbed his chin. ‘So you get to decide some things. If you hear two archers talking about stealing from a third, would you peach?’

Michael managed to meet his eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. And talking about raping a nun?’ he asked.

Michael held his eye. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. And talking about how much they hate him?’

Michael paused. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘He’s not their friend, he’s their captain. He’s pretty good at it, and he’s better every day. But what he don’t know won’t hurt him. Get me?’ Tom leaned in close.

‘Yes.’ Michael didn’t back away. He tried to stand tall.

Tom nodded. ‘You’ve guts, young Michael. Try not to get dead. We might make a man-at-arms out of you yet.’ He grinned. ‘Nice, that little chit of yours. Best act quickly if you want to keep her for yourself.’

Out in the yard, a dozen archers and a pair of squires were gathered around a girl, and they were all furiously peeling carrots.

Lissen Carak – Father Henry

The priest watched the sell-swords come out of their leader’s room. The captain, the source of infection. She came out first, and the Bastard was holding her hand like they were lovers. Perhaps they were – if he was an imp of Satan then pleasuring an old whore would be just his mark. Aristocrats. Birds of a feather.

Bile flooded his throat, and his hands shook a little to think that he had – he had-

He ducked his head to avoid looking at them, and went back to his sermon. But it was a long time before his hands were steady enough to scrape the old parchment as clean and thin as he needed it to be.

And when the biggest of the sell-swords came down the steps, he caught the priest’s eye and smiled.

Henry felt fear go through him like a wave of cold and dirty water. What did the man know?

He got up from his work-table as soon as the giant walked off, and he slunk across the chapel to the prie-dieu in the chapel. Reached under the altar cloth to make sure it was still there. His war-bow. His arrows.

He sagged with relief, and hurried back to his work table, imagining one of his shafts in the giant’s groin. Listening to him scream.

Dormling – Hector Lachlan

The fast horsemen hadn’t learned enough to change Hector’s mind. He looked at the rough sketch of the country and shook his head. ‘If I go east, I’d as well take my beasts over the mountains to Theva,’ he said. ‘And I don’t intend to do that. I have customers in Harndon and Harnford waiting for their cattle. West of the mountains, there’s no way to pass a few thousand head except the road.’

The Keeper had spent the night dancing and drinking his own ale as well as some nasty foreign spirits and his head was pounding. ‘So wait here and send a message to the king,’ he said.

Lachlan shook his head. ‘Sod that. I’ll be away in the first light. What can you give me, Keeper? How many men?’

The Keeper grimaced. ‘Perhaps twenty helmets.’

‘Twenty? You have a hundred swords here, wasting your money and standing about idle.’

The Keeper shook his head in turn. ‘The Wild’s coming,’ he said. ‘I can’t just drift away like some. I have to hold this place.’

‘You can hold this place with thirty men. Give me the rest.’

‘Maybe thirty like you – thirty heroes. Normal men? I need sixty.’

‘So now you’ll give me forty? That’s better. Forty brings me near a century strong – enough to watch both ends of the herd and still leave a sting in my tail.’ Lachlan looked over his sketch. ‘When we come down out of the hills, it’ll be worse – I’ll want horses. So I’ll take fifty of your swords and two hundred head of horses.’

The Keeper laughed. ‘Will you now?’ he asked.

‘Yes. For a third of my total profit.’ Lachlan asked.

The Keeper’s eyes widened. ‘A third?’

‘Of the profit. In silver, payable when I’m standing on your doorstep on my road home.’ Lachlan was smiling as if he knew the punch line to a secret joke.

‘And nothing if you’re dead,’ said the Keeper.

‘I confess, paying my debts won’t matter so much to me if I’m dead,’ Lachlan answered.

The Keeper pondered a while. The tall serving woman came in, and the Keeper was surprised to see that nothing but the blandest of smiles passed between them. He’d been sure the dark-haired woman was the drover’s type.

‘I need your trade, and you’re a well-known man,’ the Keeper said. ‘But you’re trying to take all my horses and half my fighting strength on a wild-haired adventure with little profit and a great deal of death.’ He rubbed his head. ‘Tell me why I should help you?’

Lachlan kicked his sword blade around his chair and sat back. ‘If I told you I was going to make the greatest profit in my family’s history by getting this herd through to the south-’ he said.

The Keeper nodded. ‘Sure, but-’ The drover’s cheerful arrogance annoyed him.