The Red Knight

He shrugged inwardly. Or it would harden their resolve to fight to the end. Now they had nothing to save but themselves, and even when he’d been a man, he’d had trouble understanding men. And, increasingly, he felt this contest was too complex for even his intellect. He had made himself the Captain of the Wild, and yet his own interests were scarcely engaged, here. He was far more interested in the puzzle that was the dark sun, and in her, then he was in the prosecution of the siege.

He wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing here, and how he’d ended up so committed to this action that he was willing to risk himself in combat. Last night he’d taken his invincible new form out onto the field, and the fortress had hurt him. None of the blows he had taken were deadly, but he felt the pain of his exertions and their blows. The pain had angered him, and in anger he had unleashed some of his carefully hoarded power – enough to damage the fabric of the fortress. It had impressed his allies, but the cost-

Again, he rustled his leaves in what would have been a shrug, in a man.

Last night, he had felt the breath of mortality for the first time in twenty years. He didn’t like the smell of it. Or the pain.

But as the siege continued it was becoming a rallying point for the Wild in the North Country, and despite minor set-backs, more and more creatures were coming in. His prestige was increasing, and that prestige would directly affect a rise in his power.

None of which would matter if he were dead.

He thought of her.

He could no longer shake his head – it was now a continuous armoured growth from his neck, and he had to pivot around the waist to look to the left and right. But he made an odd clucking sound as he considered her. She had attempted to hurt him directly, last night.

And finally, he considered the third presence in the fortress besides the dark sun. Power – cold, blue power – had struck him. Pure power, untrammelled by doubt or youth. Trained and honed, like fine steel.

It was his apprentice, of course. Had Thorn been able to smile, he would have.

Harmodius.

There was a solvable problem.

Lissen Carak – Amicia

Amicia stood on the wall watching the world burn. She didn’t notice him until he was at her shoulder.

‘It was a matter of time,’ he said, as if they had been in conversation all morning.

She wasn’t sure, in truth, if she wanted to say anything. She didn’t want to look at him – didn’t want him to see how committed she was, or how angry.

‘He has to show his allies that he is making progress.’ The captain leaned on the crenellation and pointed to the western edge of the woods. ‘His men are building a pair of trebuchets. Before the end of the day, we’ll be feeling their power. Not because it will actually help him win, but because it will make his allies see him as-’

If she kept listening to him she would . . .

She turned on her heel and walked away.

He hurried to catch up to her.

‘People are watching,’ she hissed. ‘I am a novice in this convent. I am not your lover. Let me go, please.’

‘Why?’ he asked. He seized her arm in a steel grip. He was hurting her.

‘Let me go,’ she said. ‘Or you are no knight.’

‘Then I am no knight. Why? Why change your mind so suddenly?’ He leaned towards her. ‘I have not changed mine.’

She hadn’t meant to have a conversation. She bit her lip, and looked around for a miracle. Sister Miram. The Abbess. ‘Don’t you have to do something? Save somebody? Give orders?’ she asked. ‘Why not go and save the farms?’

‘That’s unfair!’ he said. and let go of her arm. ‘No one is watching us. I would know.’ He shrugged. ‘I cannot save the farms. And I’d rather be here, with you.’

‘You want me to have that on my soul, as well? That in addition to breaking my vows, I am endangering the fortress?’

He smiled his wicked smile. ‘It’s worked on other girls,’ he said.

‘I imagine it works all the time.’ She put her chin as high as she could manage. ‘I do not choose to be your whore, Captain. I don’t even know your name. Girls like me don’t get to know the names of the great lords who try to put their knees between our legs, do we? But I am choosing to say no. You are not afraid of Jesus, and you are not afraid of the Abbess. So I cannot appeal to you along those lines. But By God, messire, I can protect myself. If you lay a hand on me again, I will hit you hard.’

He looked at her.

He had tears in his eyes, and she hesitated. But she’d made her decision, and she carried it through. She walked away, and didn’t look back.

It was difficult for her to decide why she was so angry. It was difficult for her to say – even to herself – why she was choosing to walk away. But he was not for her, despite the feeling that her very soul was screaming as she walked down the steps.

Despite the look, like agony, on his face.

Lissen Carak – Harmodius

Harmodius