Riding back, they rode three abreast, with the Queen flanked by Lady Mary and Lady Rebecca. Behind them, Emota rode between two young knights, her head back, laughing.
‘Emmota is vulnerable,’ Mary said carefully.
The Queen smiled. ‘Yes. Let us break up these laughs and long glances. It is far too early in the season.’
She straightened her back and gave her horse a check, turned in her saddle like a commander in a tapestry.
‘Gentles! Let us race to the Gates of Harndon!’
Ser Augustus, one of the young men in a peasant’s smock, laughed aloud. ‘What is the forfeit?’ he called.
‘A kiss!’ called the Queen, and she gathered her horse under her.
One of the squires blew a horn, and they were away into the fading spring light in a riot of colour and noise, the last of the sun on brilliant greens and blues and brght scarlet, gold and silver.
But the Queen’s kiss was never in danger. Her southern mare seemed to scarcely touch the road as she skimmed along, and the Queen was the first horsewoman in her court – back straight, shoulders square, hips relaxed, and the two of them seemed like a single creature as they led the excited pack of young courtiers along the road, over the bridge, and up the long hill, recently lined with fine houses, to the gates of the city.
The Queen touched her crop to them, first of all the pack by two lengths, and Lady Rebecca was second, flushed and delighted at her own prowess.
‘Becca!’ cried the Queen in delight. As the others rode up, she kissed her secretary. ‘You are riding more for your hillman?’
‘Yes,’ she said modestly.
The Queen beamed at her.
‘Are you the Queen, or has some wild hussy stolen the Queen’s horse?’ said a voice from inside the gate, and Diota emerged. ‘Put your hair up, my lady.’ And put some decent clothes on.’
The Queen rolled her eyes.
Lissen Carak – The Red Knight
The Red Knight drank off a cup of wine from the saddle. He handed the cup down to Toby.
‘Listen up, messires,’ he said. ‘Gelfred – we have to assume their camp is between us and Albinkirk.’
Gelfred looked around. ‘Because we didn’t come across it last night, you mean?’
The captain nodded. ‘Exactly. Let’s look at this for a moment. The farm that was hit was east of the fortress.’
Ser Jehannes shrugged. ‘You found the dead Jack west of here, though. And it stands to reason he was returning to camp.’
The captain looked at him for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
Bad Tom leaned in. ‘Can’t be south. They can’t be across the river.’
‘West and north, I’m thinking,’ said Gelfred. ‘I’m sensing there’s a high ridge that way, that runs parallel to the ridge that the fortress is on.’
‘This could take days,’ Ser Jehannes said.
The captain seemed to glow with vitality, an impossible feat for a man who had fought two monsters in three days.
‘Messires,’ he said, ‘This is what we do. All the men-at-arms in the centre, in one group. Pages will ride ahead, ten horse lengths between men. We will stop whenever I whistle, and dismount. And listen. The archers will follow well to the rear, also in a long skirmish line. In the event of a fight, the archers will close on the battle and the men-at-arms will remain under my command. Because we are not going out to fight. We are going out to find evidence of a force of the Wild mustering. The only occasion to fight will be to rescue one of our scouting parties.’ His voice was clipped, professional, and had the self-assurance of a prince. Even Jehannes had to admit his plan was correct.
‘Gelfred, when we locate their camp, we will make a brief demonstration.’ He grinned. ‘To occupy their attention.’ He winked at Cuddy, who nodded.
‘I’m thinking you mean an archery demonstration,’ he said.
The captain nodded and continued. ‘You and your men will conceal yourselves nearby and report what happens when we leave. We will withdraw due east, and come down into the Vale of the Cohocton. If there is pursuit, they will have the sun in their eyes. ‘ The captain looked at Cuddy. ‘If we are pursued-’
‘I dismount the lads and ambush your pursuers. If I ain’t been hit myself.’ He nodded. ‘I know the game.’
The captain clapped his armoured shoulder. ‘Everyone see it?’
His squire, Michael, was pale. ‘We’re going out into the woods, looking for an army of creatures of the Wild?’ he asked.
The Red Knight smiled. ‘That’s right,’ he said.
As their leader turned his war horse and raised his baton to give an order, Jehannes turned to Tom. ‘He’s drunk.’
‘Nah. He’s a loon, like I am. He wants a fight. Give him his head.’ Tom grinned.
‘He’s drunk!’ Jehannes repeated.
Ser Milus shook his head. ‘Only on love,’ he said.
Jehannes spat. ‘Worse and worse.’
They rode west first, and the road was very familiar. As soon as they reached the edge of the woods, the pages split off, riding ahead, their skirmish line widening and widening to the north. The men-at-arms turned into the woods behind them in a compact mass, and then came the archers. Gelfred rode with the captain, and his scouts were nowhere to be seen.
After enough time to terrify most of the pages, who rode in fear of imminent ambush by unimaginable monsters, the captain’s whistle rang out.
Every man reined in his horse and slipped to the ground.
They were still for a long time.
The captain’s whistle sounded again, two long blasts.
They mounted and rode forward. It was late afternoon. The sky had patches of blue, and a man could be warm from the sun, the weight of his harness, and his nerves.
Or cold, from the same causes.
Men tire quickly when they are scared. A patrol in hostile terrain is the most tiring thing a soldier can do short of violence. The captain blew his whistle each time he had completed a silent count to fifteen hundred. Stopping gave his men a rest.
The sun began to slant more, and the light grew redder. The sky to the west was clear.
They began to climb Gelfred’s ridge, and the tension began to grow.
About halfway up the ridge, the captain’s whistle sounded, and the company dismounted.
The captain motioned to Michael, who stood at his shoulder.
‘Whistle: horseholders.’
Michael nodded. He took off his right gauntlet, picked up the silver whistle on the cord around his neck, and blew three long and three short notes. After a pause, he blew the same call again.
All around them, men-at-arms handed their horses to squires. Behind them, at the base of the hill, every sixth archer took the horses of his mates and led them to the rear.
The captain watched it all, wondering if the pages, who he couldn’t see, were also obeying.
He could feel the enemy. He could smell the green of the Wild. He listened, and he could almost hear them. Idly, he wondered why Amicia smelled like the Wild.
There was a distant trumpeting noise, like the belling of a hart.
‘Jehannes, you have the men-at-arms. I’m going to take command of the pages. Michael, on me.’ He handed his reins to Toby and started up the hill. His harness was almost silent, and he moved fast enough to leave Jehannes’s protests behind.
Bad Tom stepped out and followed him.
The hill was steep, and the pages were two hundred paces further up the ridge. He breathed in relief when he saw them – too clumped up, but all dismounted, and he passed a boy of fifteen with six horses headed down the hill.
Climbing a steep ridge in armour reminded him of just how little sleep he’d had since the first fight, against the wyvern, but through his fatigue he could still feel the place on his fingers where Amicia had touched him.
Michael and Tom had trouble keeping up with him.
He reached the pages. Jacques had them spreading out already. He smiled at the captain.
‘Nice job,’ he whispered.
‘We’re going to the top, I take it?’ asked Jacques.