The Red Knight

‘Ah!’ he said. He said a verse of Archaic to the delight of all present, who had never imagined being allowed to watch a famous magus work. It was different in daylight. Men who had hidden away when he cast at night now stared like churls.

Random could see the power gathering around the older man’s hand. He didn’t have the talent to cast power, but he’d always been able to see it.

Then the old man cast, flicking his fingers at the daemon.

It seemed to pulse with colour – every man let go a breath – and then it dissolved to sand.

And not very much sand, at that.

‘Fae,’ Harmodius said. ‘Something interrupted its decomposition when it died.’

Their incomprehension was evident. Harmodius shrugged. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m only talking to myself, anyway.’ He laughed. ‘Master Merchant, a word with you.’

Random followed the old Magus away from the wagons. Behind them, Old Bob, the mercenary, rode up fully armed. The pargeter was showing off his sketch and Old Bob was suddenly silent.

‘I’ve killed two of them in three days,’ Harmodius said. ‘This is very bad. I ask your help, in the name of the king. But I warn you that this will be dangerous. Extremely dangerous.’

‘What sort of help?’ Random asked. ‘And for what reward? Pardon me, my lord. I know that all the court think my kind lives only for gold. We don’t. But par dieu, messire, I have several men’s fortunes in these wagons. My own, first and foremost.’

Harmodius nodded. ‘I know. But there is clearly an incursion – perhaps even an invasion – from the Wild. The daemons are the enemy’s most valuable and most powerful asset. I thought it horrifying that I should encounter one. Two means we are watched, and there is a force in behind us. Three . . . three is unthinkable. Despite which, I ask you to send a messenger to the king. Immediately. One of your best men. And that we continue north.’

Random nodded.

‘I have no idea if the king will guarantee the value of your convoy,’ Harmodius said. ‘What’s it worth?’

‘Sixty thousand golden nobles,’ Random said.

Harmodius sucked in a breath, and then laughed.

‘Then I can safely say that the king can’t replace it for you. Good Christ, man, how can you take so much into the wilderness?’ Harmodius laughed.

Random shrugged. ‘We go to buy a year’s produce of grain from a thousand farms,’ he said. ‘And beef from the hillmen – maybe fifteen hundred animals, ready to be fattened for market. And beer, small wine, skins from deer, beaver, rabbit, otter, bear and wolf – a year’s worth for every haberdasher and every furrier in Harndon. That’s the business of the Northern Fair, and that’s without their staple of wool.’

Harmodius shook his head. ‘I’ve never thought of the value of all these things,’ he said. ‘Or if I have, I’ve forgotten.’

Random nodded. ‘Half a million gold nobles. That’s the value of the Northern Fair.’

‘I didn’t know there was that much gold in the world,’ Harmodius laughed.

‘Nor is there. That’s why we have helmets and crossbows and fine wines and goldsmith work, and gaudy rings and bolts of every fabric under the sun – and raisins and dates and olive oil and sugar and every other product the north doesn’t have. To trade. It’s why my convoy must get through.’

Harmodius looked at the mountains, just breaking the distant horizon. ‘I’ve never thought about it,’ he said. ‘Now that I do, it seems very – vulnerable.’ He looked around. ‘What happens if there is no fair?’

Random had had that very thought several times in the last two days.

‘Then Harndon has no beef; it gets only the grain from the home counties; there are no furs for clothes or hats, no honey for bread, less beer and ale in every house. And the king is less by the tax he collects on the merchandise, and less again by the value of – hard to say, but let’s call it half of the wool staple. Small folks would starve. In the East, merchants who buy our wool would break. Most of the money-men of Harndon would break, and hundreds of apprentices would go out of work.’ He shrugged. ‘And that’s just this winter. It’d be worse in the spring.’

Harmodius looked at the merchant as if he was being told a fairy tale. Then he shook his head. ‘This has been an eventful morning, Master Merchant. We should be on our way. If you’ll agree to go.’

Random nodded. ‘I’ll go. Because if I turn this convoy back,’ he shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll lose a great deal of money.’ And I’ll never be mayor.

Lissen Carak – Michael

The Siege of Lissen Carak. Day Two

Michael licked his pen nib, absently painting the corner of his mouth in tree-gall and iron.