The Red Knight

They made tea from the water of the loch, ate cold meat, and curled up to sleep. The stones of the beach were cold and wet, but the wool tent and the warmth of the horses won out in the end.

They took watches in turns. The captain took the mid watch, and he sat high above the beach on a rock. The wind was gone, and with it the rain, and he watched a thousand thousand stars and the moon.

May we talk?

No.

You’ve closed your door and you aren’t responding to Mag and she’s confused. You are linked to her. The courtesy of mages requires you-

No. The captain looked out over the loch. Go away. Not at home.

His head hurt.

In the morning, they drank hot tea, ate fresh Johnny cake made in ashes on a flat rock by Mag, and rode on. The horses were tired and cold, but by a miracle none of them were lame or sick despite a cold night on a mountainside. They followed the trail up over the green ridge at the north end of the loch, down into a shallow, high valley of green turf with the stream ripping through, full of rain water. From there down a rocky course at the centre, and then they cut back twice, riding up another ridge. The green of the hills was deceiving – what looked like one endless ridge proved to be a succession of them, one merging to another in the grey light.

The Keeper shook his head. ‘It wasn’t like this the last time,’ he said.

Ranald laughed. ‘Never the same twice, is it, Keeper?’

The Keeper shrugged. ‘This is only my second trip, Ranald.’

Bad Tom grunted. ‘Never been, meself. But Hector said it was different every time.’

Up and up.

They climbed the next ridge as the sun struggled through the curtain of cloud, and at the top of the next ridge, in a fold of the earth, sat a shepherd’s cot with a curl of peat-smoke coming out of a low chimney.

Sheepfolds extended right out from the walls of the stone house, as if the whole place were built for sheep.

The trail led from their ridge to the door of the shepherd’s cot, straight as a lance.

‘Biggest sheep I’ve ever seen.’ Alcaeus was rubbing the water out of his hair.

They rode down the track. The stone wall by the cot had a gate with richly worked iron hinges and the captain leaned over and opened it.

On the far side, hidden by the crest of the hill, was a brick horse barn. It had eleven stalls.

The captain grinned. ‘I’ll take this as a sign we’re welcome,’ he said.

The brick horse barn looked very out of place.

‘I know this barn,’ Gawin said. ‘This is Diccon Pyle’s barn.’ He looked at Ranulf, who nodded.

‘From Harndon,’ Ranulf said. ‘I was just thinking of it. Warm, snug-’ He blew out a breath.

They took the horses into the barn. Their hooves rang on the brick floor, louder than the captain would have thought possible. There were oats in every manger, fresh straw on the floors, clean water in the buckets.

They unsaddled the horses, and took the gear off the pack animals. The captain curried his new destrier and put a blanket – ready to hand – over him. Gawin and Alcaeus did the same, as did the Keeper and Ranald. Bad Tom stood in the doorway, a sword in his hand.

‘I don’t like this. It’s fey.’ Tom thumbed the edge of the blade.

‘Not a problem you can solve with a sharp blade,’ said the captain. He got the tack off Tom’s big gelding. ‘Relax.’

Tom didn’t leave the doorway. ‘I want to get this over,’ he said.

Ranald went and took his arm. ‘Not the way to go, Tom. Be easy.’

Mag smiled at Ser Alcaeus. ‘Would you be so kind as to have the saddle off my horse, ser knight? I’m a poor weak woman.’

Ser Alcaeus grinned.

Mag gathered her cloak, pushed past Bad Tom, and walked to the door. She knocked politely.

The knock sounded as loud as the crack of a trebuchet in the silence.

The door opened.

Mag went in. The Keeper paused at his currying and dropped the brush. ‘Damn,’ he said. And ran for the door, but it was already closed. He knocked, and the door opened, and he was gone.

‘I think the rest of us might as well go in together,’ the captain said. He wiped his hands on straw. He walked up to the door. ‘You, too, Tom.’

Tom was breathing hard. ‘It’s all magick.’

The captain nodded and spoke carefully, as he would to a skittish horse or a scared child. ‘It is, that. We’re in his hands, Tom. But we knew that.’

Tom stood straight. ‘You think I’m afraid.’

Ranald made a motion of negation.

The captain nodded. ‘Yes, Tom. You are afraid. If you weren’t, to be honest, you’d be some sort of madman.’

‘Which you may be, anyway,’ Ranald said.

Tom managed a smile. ‘I’m ready.’

The captain rapped at the door.

And it opened.