The Red Knight

The woodsman frowned. ‘The woods are any man’s, or no man’s. This is Wild Land.’

‘No. These Hills are in the Circle of the Wyrm,’ the Keeper said.

The woodsmen began to gather. Many had spears, and every man had an axe. They were forming.

Gawin dismounted and, as fast as a dancer, remounted on his war horse. He drew his great sword.

The Keeper raised his hand. ‘Peace, ser knight.’ He looked back at them. ‘No need for arms.’

‘You have wisdom, old man,’ called the leader of the woodsmen.

‘You have been warned,’ said the Keeper.

The woodsman spat. ‘I laugh at your warning. What business is it of yours? And if one of your bridges is swept away by my logs-’ He shrugged. ‘There is wood everywhere. Build another.’

The Keeper looked around at the crowd of woodsmen. ‘If you remain here, every one of you will die,’ he said.

They looked unimpressed.

The Keeper wheeled his horse. ‘Let’s ride,’ he said.

The Keeper led the way, and they rode at a trot until they were out of the dale and up the next green ridge.

‘I feel as if I just ran away,’ Gawin said.

The captain grimaced. ‘Me, too.’

The Keeper turned in the saddle. ‘If the Wyrm is of a mind, he’ll kill them all for this, and us, too, by association.’

That night, for the first time, they camped. There was little grass for the horses, and they had to put nosebags on them and use the oats that the pack animals carried. Mag watched Gawin start dinner and then pushed him out of the way.

‘By the good and sweet Christ,’ she said. ‘At least use a clean knife.’

Alcaeus laughed and took the cook knives to the stream and washed them, scouring them with sand.

The Keeper rode out with the hillmen and came back with two big turkeys.

Gawin greeted them with a pair of big trout. ‘I take it there’s not much in the way of angling in these parts,’ he said. ‘Glad I brought a line.’

Mag looked at the birds and the fish. ‘What you catch, you clean,’ she said. ‘I’m a cook, not a servant.’

That made the captain laugh. He’d spent the late afternoon building a shelter and digging her a fire pit and now he helped clean the fish with a good grace. They drank the last of the wine by firelight.

‘Tomorrow,’ said the Keeper.

They rode with the dawn.

The next range of hills was bare of trees, as if a horde of sheep had clipped them clean – green grass rippled in the wind like a green sea, and the hills rolled away like a greater sea – from the height of their ridge, they could see twenty more ridges spread out like pleats in green wool.

Mag raised a hand. ‘Is that an eagle?’ she asked.

Far to the north-east, a great bird rode the air over the hills.

The Keeper looked under his hand.

The captain looked too. The great creature was farther away than he had imagined, and he looked and looked until he appreciated what he was seeing, and then his heart beat in pure fear.

‘Good Christ,’ said Mag.

‘My God,’ said Gawin.

‘That’s the Wyrm of Erch,’ said the Keeper.

It was flying. It was larger than a castle, and it was flying over the hills to the north. Even as they watched, the titanic dragon turned – for a moment its immense and spiky tail was clearly silhouetted against the northern sky, and its huge wings swept out on either side.

‘Good Christ,’ Mag said again.

It was faster too.

The captain couldn’t take his eyes off it.

So, Harmodius said in his mind. So. The dead Magus sounded, if anything, more awestruck than the living captain.

The wind-storm of its wing beats began to echo across the hills. The only sound the captain could imagine like it was the beat of the great mills in Galle – he’d heard them in the low country.

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

It was as big as the hills.

His riding horse began to panic. Mag’s threw her with a sudden twist and bolted, and all the horses went wild. The captain dismounted, hauled his horse’s head down, and knelt by the seamstress.

‘Nothing hurt but my pride,’ she snapped. ‘And nothing much there to bruise.’

The Wyrm was coming right at them.

Its wings swept up, their tips almost touching, and then down, and the power of their passage left a swath of matted grass far below as the Wyrm passed over them. It was enormous. The captain was able to count to ten while the immense thing passed over him. His riding horse stood frozen in terror and the dragon’s shadow covered the ground for a hundred paces in all directions – more. It covered the sun.

He blinked his eyes and looked again.

Look in the Aether, said Harmodius.

The captain raised his sight and staggered in renewed awe. If Thorn had been a pillar of green, the Wyrm was – was the sun.

The captain shook his head.

Gawin threw his head back and whooped.

Bad Tom laughed aloud.

‘Now that, my friends,’ he said, ‘Is a Power of the Wild, and no mistake.’

They rode down into the next valley as the rain clouds came on, building to the north over the loch. A series of lochs fell away for leagues – larger and larger, until they merged into a sheet of water twenty leagues or more away. It was a superb view. In front of them, just short of the first loch, was a ford over a burn. They got cloaks off their saddles as they came to the stream. No one spoke much.

The rain came down like a curtain, sweeping from the north end of the valley, cutting off the view of the lochs.

Beyond was only rain, and black cloud.

‘It’s like the end of the world,’ Mag said.

The captain nodded. Ser Alcaeus crossed himself.

They crossed the stream quickly at a cairn. The captain rode off to the side, and then rejoined them. ‘Let’s move,’ he said. ‘The water here rises very quickly and very high.’

Gawin watched the water. ‘Salmon in that loch,’ he said wistfully.

On the far side was a narrow track that rose on the hillside. It was just wide enough for a horse, and they picked their way in single file, with the Keeper at the head and Bad Tom last.

It took them an hour to climb the ridge, and the rain caught them in the open again. It was cold, and they were soaked through despite heavy cloaks and hoods.

Up, and up they went.

At the top of the ridge was a seat of stone facing west.

The captain looked at it. So did Mag. It held the residue of power.

The Keeper didn’t stop. He rode down the far side.

From the very top, just beyond the High Seat, the captain could see the ghostly impression of crags to the north – far away, and gleaming white. Almost everything else was lost in the rain, although they were above it for a few hundred paces, and then they rode back into it.

Down and down, and trusting his horse. His light saddle was soaked, and he worried for his clothes. For summer, this was cold rain.

His brain was running wild.

‘We’re going to visit that?’ he asked, sounding more like Michael than he would have