The Red Knight

In his head, he knew that her anger was a kind of armour to keep him farther away. But it hurt, anyway. ‘Sometimes, secrets are secret for a reason,’ he said.

‘You curse God because your mother was unfaithful to your father and you grew to manhood with the torments of your brothers?’ She spat. ‘I thought you were braver than that.’ She shrugged. ‘Or do you mean that you intend to sortie out into the night and die?’

He took a deep breath. Counted carefully to fifty in High Archaic, and let the breath go. ‘You have been in the Wild,’ he said softly.

She looked away. ‘Begone.’

‘Amicia-’ He almost called her Love, and he stammered. ‘I have been in your palace. On your bridge. I’m not making judgment.’

‘I know, you idiot,’ she spat at him.

He was stunned by her venom. ‘I will protect you!’ he said.

‘I don’t want your protection!’ she said, the anger all but forming frost on her lips. ‘I am not a suffering princess in a tower! I am a woman of God, and my God is the only protection I require, and I do not know why my power does not come from the sun! I have enough weight of sin on my head without you adding to my burdens!’ She got to her feet and gave him a sharp push. ‘I am an Outwaller chit, a slut, a woman lower than a serf. You, it turns out, are some lost prince. You can, I have no doubt, cozen any woman you like, looks, money and power!’ She pushed him again. ‘I AM NOT FOR YOU.’

He was not a blushing youth of sixteen. He caught her arm as she pushed him, and pulled. He thought she would fall into his arms.

She almost did. But she caught herself, and his kiss was deflected. His arms pinned her, and she said, with all the ice a woman can muster: ‘Shall I tell Sym you forced me? Captain?’

He let her go. Just in that moment, he hated her.

Just in that moment, the feeling was probably mutual.

She walked away to the main hospital room, and he had nowhere to which he could retreat except the dispensary behind him.

On the other hand, it was empty, and just then what he needed, perhaps more than ever before in his life, was to be alone.

He collapsed into the heavy wooden chair in the darkened room, and before he knew it, he was crying.

Lissen Carak – Sauce

Sauce had the duty. She was fresh enough to her promotion that she still enjoyed the responsibility – made a special effort to be clean, neat, her armour well-polished, her square-topped cap neat as a pin. She knew that a lot of the older men resented taking orders from a woman, and she knew that a perfect turn-out helped.

She set the guards on the main gate, and marched the duty detachment to the posterns, relieving each post in turn – challenge, password, posting by the numbers, and accepting the salutes – she loved the ceremony. And she loved to see the effect on the farmers and their families. Farmers clean and oil their tools, tour their livestock, morning and night. Farmers know a patient craftsman when they see one, even when the craft is war.

She relieved the last post and marched the off-going detachment through the courtyard to the base of the West Tower, where she dismissed them. Two slow-moving archers were detailed to wash the heavy wood piling driven into the ground for sword practice – Low Sym had been tied to it for his punishment, and it had various substances on it that needed cleaning off.

Then she climbed the steps to the tower, listening to the off-going soldiers. She was listening for criticism; she expected it. She wasn’t really good enough to be a corporal. She wanted to be – but there was so much to learn.

And she knew that this was going to be a tough night. All across the garrison tower men were polishing, sharpening, trimming a belt end, checking the stuffing on a gambeson sleeve. A thousand rituals to conjure safety and luck in battle. And they were all tired.

At the head of the stairs stood Bad Tom, her nemesis, with his cronies. She straightened her back, noticed that even though he was supposedly off-duty he was still fully armed, wearing full harness but for the gauntlets and the bassinet, which sat together on the plank table. She noted that his armour was as carefully polished as her own.

He was talking to Bent, and they were smiling.

She met their looks and glared. ‘What?’

‘Your people look good enough for the Royal Guard,’ Tom said with a rich chuckle.

‘What the fuck does that mean?’ she spat. She looked past him, over the walled balcony that let light and air into the tower from the courtyard. She could see the priest from here, climbing out on the wall. She wondered what he was doing there.

Bent slapped his thigh and roared. ‘Told you!’ he shouted, and went back to his game, and she forgot Father Henry. ‘Can’t even take a fucking compliment.’

She glared at both of them and went to the roof to watch her posts. ‘Where are all the men-at-arms? Captain left a note-’

Tom nodded to her. ‘I’ve got it, Corporal. I’m preparing the sortie.’

Sauce felt a keen disappointment edged with anger. ‘A sortie? But-’