The North Road – The Red Knight
The column rolled east at a good pace and within hours, the captain’s precautions were justified by huntsmen flushing creatures of the Wild – a pair of boglins, and a lone irk.
They made camp early, dug a trench, and stood watches.
The captain lay awake most of the night.
In the morning they moved with the dawn, and his heart began to lift. The process of camping, of moving camp, and the sounds of the horses and the wagons – the sounds of people and animals – it all raised his spirits.
It took them three days to come to the Southford of the Albin. Albinkirk still smouldered, on its hill. The Royal Standard still flew from the castle, and the captain and his officers rode to the town gate, were admitted, and dined with Ser John Crayford.
Ser Alcaeus, who was falling into the company as if he had always been there, walked them around the walls. ‘This is where we held their first rush,’ he said at the ruined west wall. ‘Here’s where a dozen of us held the gate.’ And again, with a wry look, ‘Here’s where we almost lost the wall.’
Crayford shook his head. ‘You’re the very King of Sell-Swords, now, I reckon,’ he said. He leered at the captain. ‘My squire’s older than you, boy! How’d you do it?’
The captain raised an eyebrow. ‘Clean living.’
Crayford shook his head. ‘Good on you, lad. I’m a jealous old man. If I had another battle in me, I’d follow you.’
The captain smiled. ‘Even though two of your men are leaving you for my company?’ he asked.
The old man managed to nod with a good grace. ‘Even then, you scapegrace.’
He let them go with a fine meal and a hogshead of wine.
‘No one left here to drink it,’ he muttered.
People were trickling back into the town. The captain bought bread for the whole company from a young woman with haunted eyes. Haunted, but practical.
‘Burned the house,’ she said, eyes on the west. ‘Couldn’t burn the ovens, though, could they? Little fucks.’
They rode north on the east side of the Albin in the morning, and Ranald told them of having met the Queen at the ford as her boats rowed past.
Past Albinkirk the huntsmen ranged wider, over the hills on either side. Summer was coming and the abandoned farms seemed sinister in their wrappings of verdant life. Grains stood tall and ripe and there wasn’t going to be a soul to harvest it.
The captain watched it go by.
Ser Alcaeus rode by his side. ‘There were men and women in these farms when I came through in late winter.’
The captain shook his head. ‘I wonder if men will ever farm here again,’ he said.
Two days north of Albinkirk, they came to the crossroads and made camp. The East Road ran up over the passes and down into the Vale of Delf, and on into the Morea.
The North Road ran into the Hills, past the Inn of Dorling and eventually to the Lakes and the Wall.
That night, over dinner in his tent, the captain put a map on the table. ‘Jehannes, you’ll take the company east to Morea. Find us a secure camp. I’ll join you in a ten-day.’
Jehannes made a face. He looked at Tom Lachlan. ‘If this is so important, why don’t we all go?’
Tom laughed. ‘We’re going to see the Wyrm, Jehannes. Not pay a call on a lady, nor smoke out a company of brigands.’
The captain leaned over the table. ‘The Wyrm is a creature of the Wild. A Power like Thorn. And the company won’t impress it. Him.’
Jehannes shook his head. ‘I mislike it.’
‘Reservation noted,’ the captain said.
Tom sat back, his booted feet on one of the captain’s stools. ‘Ahh. I can smell the hills already.’
Ranald nodded. ‘At some point,’ he said, ‘we need to talk about the drove.’
Tom nodded.
The captain looked at Ser Alcaeus. ‘We won’t be gone long,’ he said. ‘And Jehannes can deal with any emergency.’
The Morean knight raised an eyebrow. ‘I never thought otherwise, messire,’ he said. ‘But I will be with you.’
Ranald shook his head. ‘No offence. But why?’
The Morean shrugged. Twirled his moustaches. ‘It is a Deed,’ he said. ‘I wish to see a dragon.’
The captain smiled.
When the company’s wagons rolled, the captain sat his elegant riding horse under the shade of a great oak tree and watched them go by. Men saluted him. It made him want to cry.
There was Bent, riding with Long Paw; behind him rode No Head and Jack Kaves and Cuddy. They were laughing as they passed, but they all gave him a smile and a nod. Behind them were younger men – Tippit arguing with Ben Carter and Kanny about something. They stopped when they saw him, and saluted – Ben Carter drew his sword to salute, and then looked sheepish about it.
Dan Favor rode by with Ser Milus and Francis Atcourt, who was explaining a jousting technique using a walking-stick tucked under his arm.
And more, and more. Men-at-arms, valets, squires, archers. Wagoners and tailors, prostitutes and seamstresses.
Sauce – Ser Alison Graves, now – made her horse rear a little, and flicked him a showy salute. And near the back of the column, Mag the seamstress hugged her man and rode her donkey clear of the column’s dust to join the captain. ‘If it please m’lord,’ she said.
‘Your downcast eyes are wasted on me,’ he said.
‘I would like to accompany you,’ she said.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘A few days of sleeping on the ground and bad food?’
In his mind Harmodius said,
So when the column was gone, headed up the long ridge to the east, Ranald turned his horse’s head north. ‘I don’t know where you are sleeping tonight, Captain,’ he said. ‘But I’m for the Inn of Dorling.’ To Mag, he said, ‘It’s a little more comfortable than the cold, hard ground.’
The Inn of Dorling – The Red Knight
The Keeper came into the yard with eyes as wide as new-minted pennies. His people were on the walls, and the gate was open to receive them.
His eyes went right past Ranald – wearing armour like a knight, and a red tabard. He nodded to the captain. ‘You are welcome here, messire. The best of everything, the most reasonable prices.’
‘Don’t you know your own kin?’ Ranald drawled.
Tom kicked free of his stirrups and dismounted in a clash of plate and mail. ‘I hear my brother married your Sarah,’ he said.
The Keeper looked back and forth. ‘By God!’ he said.
Tom took him in a bear hug.
‘We all thought you were dead,’ said the Keeper.
Tom growled. ‘Not yet, ye bastard.’
He looked past the Keeper at the young woman on the porch. ‘Hello, spark. You’ll be Sarah. Last I saw you, you was smaller than a pig.’
‘Now I’m big enough to carry your brother’s seed,’ she said.
He left the Keeper’s embrace and gave her a hug.
