The Red Knight

The captain nodded. ‘You valued her too.’

Tom shrugged. ‘She blessed me.’ He looked away. ‘That priest, he’s going to die hard.’

The captain nodded. ‘We’ll try him for treason, first,’ he said.

Tom had his back to the door. ‘Why try him? You’re the captain of a fortress under siege. Law of War.’

Lissen Carak – Gerald Random

Gerald Random picked his way fastidiously along the captain’s trench, following Ser Milus – clambering over the cooked bodies of a hundred boglins, their charred remnants a testimony to the power of fire. They smelled like cooked meat, and when he lost his balance and stepped on one, it crunched as if he’d stepped on charcoal. He paused.

His skin prickled.

Gelfred the huntsman strode past him, eyes wary, moving faster. The mercenary didn’t seem to mind stepping on the cremated boglins.

Random wondered how long he’d have to do this before he was like Gelfred, or Milus.

Behind him, forty men moved carefully along the trench – company archers, new recruits, farm boys. The reinforcements.

They came out of the trench under the wall of the Bridge Castle and hollered to the watch to open the postern. Random had answered the call from the fortress before mains, and he wasn’t in armour. He grabbed a bite of bread and a sound apple, and one of the young whores who’d come with the convoy handed him some good cheese. He smiled. ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ he asked. Dora. She was Dora Candlesomething. Young Nick Draper fancied her, and Allan Pargeter had drawn her naked, which was still a nine-day wonder among the wagons, despite the flying monsters and magic. That made Random laugh.

She smiled back at him. ‘Money,’ she said. ‘Same as you.’

He shook his head and laughed again. ‘If we get back to Harndon, come and ask me for a job,’ he said.

She looked at him. ‘You mean that?’ she asked.

He made a face. ‘Of course.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Just when we’re all going to die.’

Lissen Carak – The Red Knight

The captain looked out through the hole in his wall and watched the fires burning in a swathe across the enemy’s camp. The enemy’s men, at least, cooked supper.

The rest of the camps were dark.

His back hurt. But then, his side hurt too, he now had cracked ribs on both sides of his ribcage – his shoulders were wrenched from the stress of being plucked off the ground by his knights, and his right hand had odd, numb spots in it and he had no idea why.

He was supposed to be in bed.

Toby stood uncertainly by the door.

‘You want to be in bed, I suppose,’ he said.

Toby shrugged. ‘I’m hungry.’

The Red Knight went to the table in the middle of the room and tossed his valet a biscuit.

Then he looked at the lute on the table. He hadn’t played it in-

He couldn’t remember when he played it last.

He picked it up, suddenly decisive, and walked out the door into the hallway. Toby tried to cut him off.

‘Oh, Toby,’ he said. ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ He knocked on the door to his Commandery.

In three heartbeats, Michael was there.

‘Grab your lute,’ he said. ‘Good evening, Miss Lanthorn. Michael, these people need some music. Not a grim silence. Let’s light a fire.’

Michael sometimes forgot that his master was only a few years older than he was. He grinned. ‘Give me – us – a moment.’

Lissen Carak – Mag the Seamstress

Mag looked out into the darkness because she’d heard music.

There it was again, the sound of a southern lute. A wild, joyous sound.

And then another, lower lute played back.

There was a bonfire burning on the cobbles.

An archer, Cuddy, came and peered out of the North Tower. He shouted something.

Amy Carter peered out of the stable door and saw Kaitlin Lanthorn dancing by firelight, her legs flashing.

She ran back inside and rubbed her sister’s cheek. ‘They’re dancing!’ she said.

Kitty sat up, fully awake.

Low Sym heard music playing below the windows at the end of the hospital room. He threw his feet over the end of the bed and walked softly across the floor and opened one casement, and the sound of the notes raced in like a spell. He leaned out, listening.

The nun appeared by his side. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

Sym giggled. ‘Capt’n likes to play. Fast.’ He shook his head. "Leastways, he used to play. On the Continent. Ain’t heard him in an age.’

She smiled. Leaned out. ‘You like him,’ she said.

Sym thought about that for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer.

From their vantage point, they saw the music do its work. Men came out of the stable and down the steps from the towers and the stumps of the towers. Women emerged from the stables and from the nun’s dormitory.

Suddenly, there were as many people in the courtyard to dance as had been there for the priest.

The two instruments were joined by pipes and a drum.

The dancers began to move in a circle.

‘I don’t hate him.’ Sym admitted.

Amicia turned. ‘You are not lost, Sym,’ she said. ‘You are more hero than villain, even now.’

He stepped back as if she’d struck him. But then he grinned.