The Red Knight

Harold Redmede looked down at the sleeping hillman with a smile. He packed his gear silently, left the hillman the better part of a venison liver, picked up his brother’s gear as well, and humped it all to the stream.

He found his brother asleep under a hollow log with his threadbare cloak all about him. Sat and whittled, listening to the Wild, until his brother woke on his own.

‘He was harmless,’ Harold said.

‘He was a king’s man, and thus a threat to every free man,’ said Bill.

Harold shrugged. ‘I’ve been a king’s man,’ he said. It was an old argument, and not one likely to be resolved. ‘Here, have some venison and the cider I saved for you. I brought you fish hooks, twenty good heads for arrows and sixty shafts. Don’t shoot any of my friends.’

‘An aristo is an aristo,’ Bill said.

Harold shook his head. ‘Bollocks to you, Bill Redmede,’ he said. ‘There’s right bastards in the nobles and right bastards in the commons, too.’

‘Difference is that a right bastard commoner, you can break his head with your staff.’ Bill took a piece of his brother’s bread as it was sliced off with a sharp knife.

‘Cheese?’ Harold asked.

‘Only cheese I’ll see this year.’ Bill sat back against a tree trunk. ‘I’ve a mind to go put a knife in your guest.’

Harold shook his head. ‘No you won’t. First, I drank with him, and that’s that. Second, he’s wearing mail and sleeping with a dirk in his fist, and I don’t think you’re going to off a hillman in his sleep, brother o’ mine.’

‘Fair enough. Sometimes I have to remember that we must be fair in our actions, while the enemy is foul.’

‘I could still find you a place here,’ Harold said.

Bill shook his head. ‘I know you mean well, brother. But I am what I am. I’m a Jack. I’m down here recruiting new blood. It’s going to be a big year for us.’ He winked. ‘I’ll say no more. But the day is coming.’

‘You and your day,’ Harold muttered. ‘Listen, William. You think I don’t know you have five young boys hid in the beeches north of here? I even know whose boys they are. Recruits? They’re fifteen or sixteen winters! And you have an irk for a guide.’

Bill shrugged. ‘Needs must when the de’il drives,’ he said.

Harold sat back. ‘I know irks is folks,’ he said, waving a hand. ‘I’ve met ’em in the woods. Listened to ’em play their harps. Traded to ’em.’ He leaned forward. ‘But I’m a forester. They kill other folks. Bill. If you’re on their side you’re with the Wild, not with men.’

‘If the Wild makes me free, mayhap I’m with the Wild.’ Bill ate more bread. ‘We have allies again, Harold. Come with me. We can change the world.’ He grimaced to himself. ‘I’d love to have a good man at my back, brother. We’ve some right hard cases, I’ll admit to you.’ He leaned forward. ‘One’s a priest, and he’s the worst of the lot. You think I’m hard?’

Harold laughed. ‘I’m too fucking old, brother. I’m fifteen winters older than you. And if it comes to that-’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll be with my lord.’

Bill shook his head. ‘How can you be so blind? They oppress us! They take our land, take our animals, grind us-’

‘Save it for the boys, Bill. I have six foot of yew and a true shaft for any as tried to grind me. But that won’t make me betray my lord. Who, I may add, fed this village himself when other villages starved.’

‘Farmers are often good to their cattle, aye,’ Bill said.

They looked at each other. And then both grinned at the same time.

‘That’s it for this year, then?’ Harold asked.

Bill laughed. ‘That’s it. Here, give me your hand. I’m off with my little boys for the greenwood and the Wild. Mayhap you’ll hear of us.’ He got up, and his long cloak shone for a moment, a dirty white.

Harold embraced him. ‘I saw bear prints by the river; a big female and a cub.’ He shrugged. ‘Rare down here. Watch out for her.’

Bill looked thoughtful.

‘Stay safe, you fool,’ he said, and swatted him. ‘Don’t end up eaten by irks and bears.’

‘Next year,’ Bill said, and was gone.

Lissen Carak – The Red Knight

Gelfred led them west along the river for miles, on a road that became increasingly narrow and ill-defined, until they had passed the point where they fought the wyvern and the road disappeared entirely. There were no longer any fields; the last peasant’s cot was miles behind them, and the captain could not even smell smoke on the cool spring breeze, which instead carried an icy hint of old snow. The Abbess had not been exaggerating. Man had lost this land to the Wild.

From time to time Gelfred dismounted in patches of sunlight and drew his short, silver-tipped wand from his belt. He would take his rosary from his belt and say his beads, one prayer at a time, eyes flicking nervously to his captain, who sat impassively on his horse. Each time, he would lay the shrivelled, thorned stick of Witch Bane on the ground at his feet, and each time it pointed, straining like a dog on a leash.

Each time, they rode on.