The Red Knight

The sortie rode down the fortress ridge at top speed, a blur of motion at the edge of the dark, and halted at the foot of the ridge to form its wedge. But they took too long. Men and horses were too far behind – other men had over-ridden the assembly point and had to turn back – and a hundred heartbeats were consumed achieving their formation.

Thorn watched the enemy sortie emerge. He watched them ride down the cliff face and he tasted the power of the phantasm that surrounded them. And spat at the taste.

Thorn sent the signal to his ambush, and triggered the massive spell he had spent the day preparing. Power leapt across the late morning light, raw and green, and coalesced-

Thorn choked.

That was not the sortie. It was an illusion. The spectre of a sortie.

The Fallen Magus roared his rage. But it was too late, and the carefully prepared power of his magic fist slammed to empty earth.

Lissen Carak – Harmodius

‘He didn’t used to be this easy,’ Harmodius said, looking up to the captain, who sat on a borrowed destrier. The Magus grinned like a small boy. ‘The Wild has sapped his imagination.’

The shattering thunderclap of the outpouring of the Enemy’s power rang in their ears and the massive flash still burned across the captain’s retinas. ‘Can he do that again?’ the captain asked.

‘Perhaps, Harmodius admitted. ‘I doubt it, though.’

The captain exchanged a glance with Sauce, who rode by his side. It was Tom’s turn to have the duty, and the big man was fretting about missing the sortie.

‘No heroics,’ the captain called. ‘Right across the plain to the castle, then around the walls. Kill anything that comes under our hooves.’

The Wild – Peter

Peter had just finished making breakfast when the two boglins came to his fire. They had a pair of rabbits, already skinned, in each arm – eight rabbits in all. They also had a large animal carcass – also field dressed – carried between them on a pole.

‘U kuk fr us?’ said the larger one.

Peter realised with a shock that the larger mammal was a woman – beheaded and skinned. Gutted. Cleaned.

‘Kuk?’ said the larger boglin.

Peter took a deep breath, pointed at the dead woman, and shook his head. ‘I will not cook a person,’ he said.

He had his fire going, and he had already fed his friends. So he handed the remains of his squash and squirrel stew with oregano to the larger boglin. ‘Eat,’ he said.

The boglin looked at its partner. They touched their heads together for a moment, and a flood of acrid, complex smells filled the air.

The smaller boglin opened its gullet and swallowed half, and then passed the small copper pot to the larger boglin, who consumed the rest.

Peter didn’t watch.

Ota Qwan came and stood by him. ‘Aren’t you two supposed to be in the big attack?’ he asked.

They remained perfectly still. Animal still. As if they couldn’t hear him.

‘Kuk?’ asked the larger.

‘I – will – cook – the – rabbits.’ Peter spoke slowly.

‘Gud.’ The larger boglin bobbed. ‘Go kill. Back to eat.’ He made a chittering noise, his partner joined him, and they bent forward and loped off into the gathering night.

Ota Qwan looked at Peter. ‘Do you have the power, laddy?’ he asked.

Peter shook his head.

Ota Qwan shrugged. ‘Among the Sossag people it is mostly shamans who can talk to the Wild,’ he said. ‘I would like to have boglins to follow me,’ he said. ‘If they offer to join us, accept.’

Peter swallowed. ‘You would have them in camp?’

Ota Qwan shook his head in mock anger. ‘Boglins are big medicine, you know that?’

‘Where do they come from?’ Peter asked. ‘I had never seen one before – I came here.’

Ota Qwan sat by the corpse of the gutted woman. He didn’t seem to notice her, or care. ‘I don’t know, but I can tell you what men say. The word is that they grow in great colonies like giant termite hills in the deep Wild – way out west. All the creatures of the Wild fear them. The great Powers of the Wild cultivate them, recruit whole colonies, and send them to their deaths.’ Ota Qwan sighed. ‘I’ve heard said they were made – they were created – by a great Power. To fight an ancient war.’

Peter shook his head. ‘That’s just a way of saying you don’t know.’

‘Don’t I?’ Ota Qwan laughed. ‘You have so much to learn about the Wild. Because the Powers pretend that they fear nothing, but they fear the little boglins. A thousand boglins are a fearful sight. A million boglins-’ He shrugged. ‘If they could be fed, they could conquer the world.’

Peter swallowed bile.

‘Maybe you could cook for them, eh?’ Ota Qwan said. ‘You know the matrons have given you a name?’

Peter nodded expectantly.

‘Nita Qwan.’ Ota Qwan nodded expectantly. ‘A very potent name. Well done.’

Peer sounded it out in his head. ‘Gives – something.’

‘He gives life,’ Ota Qwan said.

‘Like your name,’ Peter said.

‘Yes. They see us together. I like that.’ He nodded.

‘What is Ota?’ Peter asked.

‘Take. Like ota nere!’ he paused.