The Red Knight

‘You use the power of grammerie to track the beasts?’ the captain said, breaking the frosty silence. They were riding single file along a well-defined track, the old leaves deeply trodden. It was easy enough to follow, but the road was gone. And by almost any measure, they were in the Wild.

‘With God’s aid,’ Gelfred said, and looked at him, waiting for the retort. ‘But my grammerie found us the wrong beast. So now I’m looking for the man. Or men.’

The captain made a face, but refused to rise to the comment about God. ‘Do you sense their power directly?’ he asked. ‘Or are you following the same spore a dog would follow?’

Gelfred gave his captain a long look. ‘I’d like your permission to buy some dogs,’ he said. ‘Good dogs. Alhaunts and bloodhounds and a courser or two. I’m your Master of the Hunt. If that is true then I would like to have money, dogs, and some servants who are not scouts and soldiers.’ He spoke quietly, and his eyes didn’t rest on the captain. They were always roaming the Wild.

So were the captain’s.

‘How much are we talking about?’ the captain asked. ‘I love dogs. Let’s have dogs!’ He smiled. ‘I’d like a falcon.’

Gelfred’s head snapped around, and his horse gave a start. ‘You would?’

The captain laughed aloud. It was a sound of genuine amusement, and it rang like a trumpet through the woods.

‘You think you are fighting for Satan, don’t you, Gelfred?’ He shook his head.

But when he turned to look at his huntsman, the man was down off his horse, pointing off into the woods.

‘Holy Saint Eustace! All praise for this sign!’ he said.

The captain peered off through the bare branches and caught the flash of white. He turned his horse – no easy feat on the narrow track between old trees – and he gasped.

The old stag was not as white as snow – that much was obvious, because he had a patch of snow at his feet. He was the colour of good wool, a warm white, and there were signs of a long winter on his hide – but he was white, and his rack of antlers made him a hart; a noble beast of sixteen tines, almost as tall at the shoulder as a horse. Old and noble and, to Gelfred, a sign from God.

The stag eyed them warily.

To the captain he was, palpably, a creature of the Wild. His noble head was redolent with power – thick ropes of power that seemed, in the unreal realm of phantasm, to bind the great animal to the ground, the trees, the world in a spider web of power.

The captain blinked.

The animal turned and walked away, his hooves ringing on the frozen ground. He turned and looked back, pawed the old snow, and then sprang over a downed evergreen and was gone.

Gelfred was on his knees.

The captain rode carefully through the trees, watching the branches overhead and the ground, trying to summon his ability to see in the phantasm and struggling with it as he always did when his heart was beating fast.

It had left tracks. The captain found that reassuring. He found the spot where the beast had stood, and he followed the prints to the place where it had turned and pawed the snow.

His riding horse shied, and the captain patted her neck and crooned at her. ‘You don’t like that beast, do you, my honey?’ he said.

Gelfred came up, leading his horse. ‘What did you see?’ he asked. He sounded almost angry.

‘A white hart. With a cross on his head. I saw what you saw.’ The captain shrugged.

Gelfred shook his head. ‘But why did you see it?

The captain laughed. ‘Ah, Gelfred – are you so very holy? Shall I pass word of your vow of chastity on to the maids of Lonny? I seem to remember one young lass with black hair-’

‘Why must you mock holy things?’ Gelfred asked.

‘I’m mocking you. Not holy things.’ He pointed a gloved hand at the place where the stag had pawed the snow. ‘Run your wand over that.’

Gelfred looked up at him. ‘I beg your pardon. I am a sinful man. I should not give myself airs. Perhaps my sins are so black that there is nothing between us.’

The captain’s trumpet laugh rang out again. ‘Perhaps I’m not nearly as bad as you think, Gelfred. Personally, I don’t think God gives a fuck either way – but I do sometimes wonder if She has a wicked sense of humour and I should lighten up.’

Gelfred writhed.

The captain shook his head. ‘Gelfred, I’m still mocking you. I have problems with God. But you are a good man doing his best and I apologise for my needling. Now – be a good fellow and pass your wand over the snow.’

Gelfred knelt in the snow.

The captain winced at how cold his knees must be, even through his thigh high boots.

Gelfred spoke four prayers aloud – three Pater Nosters and an Ave Maria. Then he put his beads back in his belt. He raised his face to the captain. ‘I accept your apology,’ he said. He took the wand from his belt, raised it, and it snapped upright as if it had been struck by a sword.

Gelfred dug with his gloved hands. He didn’t need to dig far.