The Red Knight

Last night the watch came and relieved the garrison of the Lower Town. The Red Knight led the watch in person. All the garrison were rescued, but brave knights and men-at-arms were killed and wounded, and the Lower Town, in the end, was lost. The Enemy has limitless creatures.

Michael looked at the parchment and tried to think what he could write. Shook his head, and went to find Kaitlin, who’s father had died when the curtain wall fell.

In the first light, three wyverns came out of the rising sun carrying rocks the size of a man’s head in their claws.

They came in high, and dived almost straight on the trebuchet.

The watch was just changing and the soldiers were completely unready. The ongoing watch was already tired, the offgoing watch was exhausted, and no one reacted in time.

Before No Head could even rotate the ballista the first monster’s claws opened, and his rock fell – struck the stump of the tower a few paces from the engine, and bounced away with a crack like lightning to fall harmlessly to the hillside below.

The second wyvern dropped lower, wings folded against his back, but he opened his wings too early, bobbed, and his rock went sailing away to kill one of the hundreds of sheep who were still penned on the ridge.

The third wyvern was the oldest and the canniest. It swooped off the target Thorn had intended and laid its rock almost gently on the ballista, smashing the engine and throwing No Head off the tower.

The archer shrieked and grabbed at the gargoyles of the hospital balcony as he fell.

The wyverns swept away.

Lissen Carak – The Red Knight

An hour later the wyverns were back. This time all three imitated the eldest, coming lower along the ridge and rising on the last thermal before the walls of the fortress to unleash their missiles at point blank range.

This time they were met by a hail of darts, bolts and arrows, loosed from every corner of the courtyard, the towers, and even the hospital balcony.

All three were hit, and flew away, angry and unsuccessful.

Their stones knocked a hole in the captain’s Commandery, killed two nuns in the hospital, and crushed a war horse and a squire in the stable.

The captain slept through it.

Lissen Carak – The Red Knight

He didn’t wake until late afternoon. He awoke in the comfort of his own room, although it felt odd. Air was moving around him.

Someone had fixed blankets and an old tapestry over a hole the size of a cart. A hole in the wall that went right through to the outside air.

His little porch was gone, too.

He got his feet on the floor, and Toby Pardieu had his clothes laid out on the press, and long leather boots over his arm, clean and black.

His knight’s belt was polished, shining like something hermetical.

‘Which the Abbess has invited ye ta’ dinner,’ Toby said. ‘Master Michael is at his exercises.’

The captain groaned as his weight came on his thighs and hips, and just for a moment he had a flash of what old age might be like.

‘Ta semptress ha gi’in me these linens,’ Toby said. He pointed to a basket. ‘New, clean, an’ pressed. Shirts. Caps. Braes. Two pair black cloth hose.’ Toby pointed at the basket.

The captain ran his hands over a shirt. The stitches were neat, very small, almost perfectly even but not quite, almost a pattern. The seamstress had used an undyed thread on the glorious new white of the linen – so confident in her skills that the very slight contrast was itself a decoration. A very subtle declaration of skill. Subtle, like the power with which she’d imbued the garments.

He picked up the shirt. The power was golden – a bright, white gold, the colour of purity. The Sun.

The shirt didn’t burn him, nor did he expect it to. He’d found that out, years ago.

Toby interrupted his reverie. ‘Wine? Hot cider?’ he asked. He looked at the floor. ‘Cider is good,’ he mumbled.

‘Cider. And I’ll wear these new things, but with my scarlet cote, Toby. Black is for-’ He sighed. ‘Black is for other occasions.’

‘Sorry, my lord.’ Toby blushed.

‘How could you know? Any word on the wounded? How’s Bad Tom?’ He felt the crisp cleanness of the new white shirt. ‘I’ll have a bath before I dress, if you can arrange it.’

Toby nodded at the challenge. ‘Twa shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ He vanished. Reappeared. ‘Ser Thomas is up and about. An’ Ser Jehannes, as well.’

The captain heard the boy’s footsteps, running. The boy made him smile. Made him feel old.

He stripped out of his arming clothes. He had had them on for – hmm. Two days now, without rest?

The shirt was damp and warm and smelled bad. Not like sweat, but like old blood. There was a lot of blood in it. It had a tear, too, all the way down one side.