The Red Knight

One of the trolls heads whipped round and saw him.

‘Run!’ he shouted.

Gelfred aimed his crossbow and the string rang like a bell and the nearest boglin folded. So did the one behind it.

‘We’re dead,’ Amy’s Hob said bitterly.

‘Don’t be such an ass,’ Gelfred said. ‘Follow me.’ They ran down the reverse slope of the ridge. The troll was crashing along behind them, much faster in the undergrowth than they were.

At the base of the ridge they were just a few horse lengths ahead of the thing, but to Amy’s Hob’s amazement, there were a pair of horses waiting. Both men vaulted into the saddle, and the horses were away, as terrified as their riders.

As soon as they outdistanced pursuit, Gelfred slowed. ‘Go to the captain – he’s on the road.’

‘I’ll tell him to get back to the fortress!’ Amy’s Hob said, eyes still wild.

Gelfred shook his head. He was still pale and his fear was obvious, but he was the kind of man who was afraid and kept on functioning. ‘No. Absolutely not. Tell him it can be done. If he’s quick.’

Amy’s Hob might have stayed to argue, but staying there was insane. He put his bare heels to the pony’s sides, and he was gone, leaving Gelfred alone in the woods with a thousand boglins and a troll.

The man knelt by his pony, and began to pray, intent on his purpose.

There was a flare of light, and Gelfred vanished.

South and East of Lissen Carrack – Bad Tom

Victory can be as much luck as skill, or strength of arms.

Bad Tom led the vanguard. They’d heard the boglin horns for a league and had stopped on the trail, a long column of twos, the war horses snorting, the archer’s ronceys trying to avoid being nipped by the bigger horses. There was new grass by the road and all the horses wanted it.

Amy’s Hob cantered in from the east and he looked as if he’d seen hell come to earth.

Tom laughed at the sight of him. ‘Guess we’ve found ’em,’ he said, delighted.

Amy’s Hob saluted the captain, who looked remarkably calm, a tall figure in scarlet and steel. ‘Gelfred says-’ He shook his head. ‘There’s a mort of ’em, but Gelfred says it’s now or not.’

‘We’re right on top of them,’ Tom said. He nodded to the scout. ‘Well done, lad. Must take balls of brass to be out there alone wi’ ’em.’

Amy’s Hob shivered. ‘Gelfred’s still out there.’

The captain listened. Sounds can be read as easily as sights, sometimes. He could see the action ahead – the road ran east along the south bank of the river, then south between the hills. Before it turned south and began to climb, it crossed a stream.

‘What’s happening?’ Michael asked.

‘The enemy is attacking a convoy,’ the captain said. He and Tom exchanged a look.

Hywel Writhe used to say, war isn’t sword cuts, it’s decisions.

‘They’re all on this side of the stream?’ he asked.

Amy’s Hob nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘Clumped up?’ he asked.

‘Which Gelfred said to tell you it is now.’ He shook his head. ‘There’s a thousand of ’em-’

The captain’s eyes met Tom’s. ‘Go,’ the captain said.

Bad Tom grinned like a madman. ‘On me!’ he roared.

Around him, men checked one more thing. It was different for each one – here, an armour strap, there, the way a helmet sat on your head. Or the check to make sure your dagger was right there, at your hip.

But men were smiling.

They said things.

They were going to do that thing that they did. When they moved like lightning and struck like the hammer on the anvil. Soldiers know, feel, these things. And luck rose about them, as if they were magi casting words of power with the hooves of their horses.

They rode right for the sound of the horns. Tom only reined in when he saw his first boglin, and he looked back to see Grendel and his rider pounding up the road.

The captain flipped him a salute. His visor was up.

‘There they are,’ Tom said. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

The captain listened and scratched his beard.

Their eyes met again.

‘Never met a Wild creature that could fight in two directions at once,’ Tom said. ‘They don’t fight. They hunt. And when they pounce – why, that’s all they have.’

‘You mean, the Wild doesn’t keep a reserve,’ the captain said.

‘What you say,’ Tom said. He could tell the captain was of one mind with him.

‘Someday they will,’ the captain said.

‘Not today,’ Tom said.

The captain hesitated another moment. Breathed deeply, listening. Then he turned back to Tom, and his grin was wide and feral.

‘Let’s do it,’ he said. He raised his lance, and pointed with it. Carlus, his trumpeter, raised his long, bronze instrument, and the captain gave him a nod.

Tom didn’t bother to form up, because surprise was everything. He was sure he knew what was happening ahead, and he led his men forward, armoured in that assurance. And when his destrier leaped a low fallen tree and the track turned and he saw hundreds of the little fuckers plundering wagons, he just raised his sword.

‘Lachlan for Aa!’ he roared, and he began to kill.